


deeper than the ocean (i’m feeling like a summer breeze)

by soulborn



Category: The Defenders (Marvel TV)
Genre: Angels, Canon-Typical Violence, Character Study, Fix-It of Sorts, Introspection, Memory Alteration, Polyamory Negotiations, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Resurrection, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-10
Updated: 2018-01-10
Packaged: 2019-03-02 15:31:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 26,404
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13321170
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soulborn/pseuds/soulborn
Summary: Danny confuses himself with the Devil. It could explain why there’s suddenlyangels.





	deeper than the ocean (i’m feeling like a summer breeze)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [liamkosta](https://archiveofourown.org/users/liamkosta/gifts).



> **notes** : i made shit up wrt abilities lol.  [ black dd suit reference ](http://www.theothermurdockpapers.com/wp-content/uploads/2010/07/Daredevil508_1.jpg) & [ daredevil!danny reference ](https://fsmedia.imgix.net/53/e1/b7/61/c38c/403e/b55c/2b91692ba440/when-iron-fist-posed-as-daredevil-roughly-around-the-same-time-of-marvels-first-civil-war.jpeg) . i did the bare minimum of research. no betas we die like men.

The light hurts.

Drags his skin. Rips him apart.

The ringing in his ears beats out all other sounds, and that’s a different childhood tragedy. Everything smells like dirt and copper.

His lips are wet. Everything is.

But he is not confused. He knows that he’s nowhere in particular, somewhere between up and down, but not side to side. His legs won’t stop shaking.

There are voices. Some are louder than the ringing, a thousand languages at once, but there a few more. He recognizes them, and reaches out. Elena. Elektra. Maria, two smaller voices. His father, Jack. Matt’s hand hurts too much to reach out. He groans at the effort.

_ Be still, child, _ says the loudest voice. Matt turns his cheek towards it. He doesn’t see, but he knows. He can feel the warmth of light wrap around, and it makes sense. The last words he’d hurt: “Someone better go tell Maggie.”

And then?

There’s nothing. Sharp, sudden pain through his hands, through his  _ feet _ worse than the arrow he’d taken to the chest. Everything melts into that red conflagration, surrounding, roaring. He throws his head back, but the voice cradles him. It guides him up and away from the rest of the noise.

He has to say goodbye. He has to tell them.

_ Be  _ still _ , child, _ the voice repeats. They aren’t as comforting this time, or as patient. They sound like they have something to lose the longer the time goes on., and he can follow that. His skin is hot to the touch. He’ll be tasting hellfire soon enough.

It would be the punishment he deserves for hurting. Those people he’d left behind. They’d had names too, but he can’t really remember them. Doesn’t know what they feel like on his tongue.

Doesn’t know if they rhyme, but he knows the exist. They’re stored in a library with the rest of his life. Documented well enough, and hopefully that’s all that needs to happen. For the first time in ages, Matt thinks he’ll get to rest.

Those other memories had always wished he’d be able to find peace and rest. He’s a hollowed man, but he’s starting to think that this counts.

‘Who am I, Father?’ Matt asks. Fresh air. His lungs burn less.

_ Chosen, _ the voice replies.  _ Be at peace and serve us well. _ The booming ends like a compromise for the damaged.

Matt nods weakly and goes back to sleep.   
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Jessica’s wearing that face.

The flat one.

The one that makes Danny wonder what’s going to come out of her mouth. She looks torn between some snarky comment and just letting it slide, puffing out her cheeks, ignoring the atmosphere.

She’s been like that for a while. He’s been like it for a while too. Every day is like stepping over some chasm and hoping you’ve jumped far enough to make it clear. There’s something ripped right straight through the ground that’s been there for days, and it’s unrecognized. Danny figures it’s something neither here nor there—but it’s  _ there.  _ It’s so obviously  _ there. _

Luke isn’t looking that much better. His arms are crossed over his chest, and his jacket has been ripped to shreds. He’s scowling, lips in a pout, eyes focused but wavering. He’s the least likely to get stuck in the middle of nowhere. The calmest. The strongest. He’s licking his lips and swaying with the bitter air, the acrid tang of sweat and blood and tears. But there’s something about the way he’s holding himself that promises he’s unbothered by the world. Danny has always wanted a taste of that.

‘Well,’ Jessica says finally. ‘That was a shitshow.’ She sucks on her teeth and shrugs.

‘Could’ve been worse,’ Luke says, matching her. ‘It could have been  _ ninjas _ again, you know, hopping around, doing whatever it is they do.’ He gestures.

‘Yeah, ninjas,’ Danny echoes blankly. It shouldn’t sting as much as it does, but it  _ burns _ until it bleeds.

The ninjas. The Hand.  _ Elektra, _ in her wave of burning fury and dark eyes. It takes him back to just a few months ago with the punch of someone who doesn’t care if their opponent is downed already. Danny was a shadow of himself, but he’s better now. Luke probably didn’t mean anything by it, but it still makes Danny’s ears ring just remembering it—and worse, the shatter of a falling building.

But Luke didn’t mean it. He didn’t, and that’s the sharpest bit of the blade. They’re standing around surrounded by unconscious lackeys who don’t even know the name of the person they’re working for. It’s going to be a mess to explain once again even though they’re  _ them. _ The Defenders, self-declared reject Avengers who could’ve had a chance if they were able to build better meaning relationships. Except for Jessica, but Danny doesn’t mention it.

‘You’d think bad guys would get tired of being bad guys,’ Jessica huffs out. She’s picking at the loose threads of her scarf where the bullets luckily missed. ‘ _ Fuck,  _ you know? I’m tired as fuck.’

Luke lets out a long, suffered sigh. ‘It’s been a long night,’ he says, obvious and exhausted. ‘I don’t know about you, but I’m leaving before the police arrive. Let me know if when you get home, yeah?’

‘Sure,’ Jessica says. She won’t, but she’ll pretend to. ‘See you...whenever. Preferably not.’

She doesn’t mean it like it sounds. Luke snorts unattractively and says bye again, waving and walking off into the shadows so he can get home without drawing attention to himself, as if the bullet holes in his sweatshirt aren’t enough to give him away.

Jessica’s wearing  _ that _ face. It’s promising another fight and a half-hearted wrestle if it comes down to it. She’s only waiting around because Danny is still standing there over one of the mooks he knocked unconscious earlier. He must’ve been staring too hard, because she’s hovering even though she’ll deny it if he says anything about it. She takes another step. He doesn’t budge.

It all comes down to another night. Another exchange of words. A few months ago when things were still sore and bloody. Jessica had yelled at him from the top of a building she’d begrudgingly climbed because Danny had been standing there for hours. He hadn’t answered his phone that night, and while she wasn’t worried about anything, she’d been pissed and carrying a mean left hook. Jessica wasn’t the coddling type and still isn’t. It might be why they get along so well.

‘You,’ she says dryly.

‘Me,’ Danny agrees. He pulls his jacket tighter over his chest, shivering slightly. ‘What about it?’

‘You’ve barely said a word tonight,’ Jessica tells him in her trademark this-is-my-job voice. She narrows her eyes accusatorily. ‘Y’got something goin’ on in there?’

She doesn’t say  _ in other words, _ but he can hear the clear line. Danny waves her off and starts collecting things that might be necessary. The guard beneath him has a band around his wrist that comes off fairly easy, and it has some weird insignia on it that Danny doesn’t quite recognize. He studies it for a few minutes and pretends he can’t feel her gaze boring into the side of his head.

‘ _ Danny,’ _ she threatens, voice tightening.

‘Stop,’ he says. ‘It’s not anything. I just think it might be necessary, you know? Can’t leave my head stuck in the sand forever.’ He runs his fingers over the fabric and swallows.

She doesn’t say anything for the moment, turning over words in her head like she has to be especially careful of what comes out of her mouth—like Danny might get flighty at any moment, try to run away before they can talk about his feelings. They usually don’t have any trouble with that to begin with.

She must have him confused for someone else. Another guy. A  _ ghost _ that happens to linger despite having no reason to. Danny deposits the bandana into his jacket pocket and runs his sweaty, nervous hands down his jeans. He meets Jessica’s gaze just barely. It’s hard to hold, but he manages.

‘Really?’ Jessica snorts. ‘Danny, this is my job. Don’t act like I don’t know what you’re doing.’

‘I’m not doing anything,’ Danny insists.

‘Yeah, sure,’ Jessica says. ‘I’m fine, but Luke’s sort of worried.’

‘He doesn’t have to be,’ he says softly.

‘Well, he is, so shove it,’ she says.

Danny just stares at her a little blankly and hopes for the best. Jessica rolls her eyes and looks around until she finds another bandana, pulling it loose and tucking it into her pocket. She doesn’t say it, but her expression basically does. Whatever this mysterious group is, she’ll find them faster.  _ They’d _ find them faster if they worked together, but she won’t say it.

‘Danny, go home,’ she says roughly. ‘You look like shit. Still cute, or whatever, but like shit.’ She purses her lips. ‘He would have wanted you to have a night off.’

He swallows down something dangerous in his throat. It threatens to jump out without warning, rough and hard in his throat. It claws and stays there despite being unwelcome.

‘Go home,’ Jessica repeats.

So he does—but not because she told him to. There’s something waiting for him in his apartment, finally finished, and ready. He has the texts from Melvin to prove it.   
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
New York is in one of the most annoying heatwaves known to mankind, and it’s making everything hot and sticky all at once. Danny’s hair is plastered to his skin beneath his mask, and the kevlar is squeaking from the humidity as he balances.

He’s teetering on the edge of a building down town. It’s around the corner from somewhere Danny shouldn’t be but can’t stay away from. The neon sign really  _ is _ distracting late at night, bright red and mocking. Pointing fingers and laughing. There’s an advertisement that won’t stop flashing every couple of seconds, and it’s only adding to the migraine that’s been building up for days.

There aren’t many leads for whatever criminal activity the Defenders interrupted the other night. The insignia is one that no one can willingly identify, and Danny hasn’t really perfected his growling vigilante voice. It doesn’t sound like him. It sounds like someone else. That phantom man hanging around in the back of his head, the haunting sound from the back of his throat that was filled with spit and blood and fear. It’s an avenging snarl.

That ghost moves through him. Gives him life. Tells him what to do, where to go—breaks the litany of hushed whispers of injustices that threaten to hide every day. Danny closes his eyes and lets it sink in. He brushes his fingers across his forehead.

It sinks in what he’s done, really. What he’s doing. Danny’s sitting on top of an apartment building that isn’t his and isn’t  _ owned _ by him in the sweltering, late evening heat of Hell’s Kitchen. He’s ready to burst just with the mention of it, and the temptation. There’s a threat humming in his veins on this August night. It makes his fingers shake, but barely.

He’s wearing something that doesn’t genuinely belong to him. By all means, it  _ does _ and it doesn’t. It’s not his color, not his choice or persona, but he’s settling comfortably in the bones of the person he doesn’t belong to, and won’t. Danny is covered from head-to-toe in ferocious red fashion with a mask that gives him everything and nothing at all. The suit doesn’t smell like him, but it feels like him and that’s almost enough. The devil is almost back to being alive on this night.

But not quite. Never quite. It’ll never be close to it every again, but Danny isn’t trying to recreate the past. He’s going to build a future that would have been ideal. He’ll sweep the streets of every pollutant until that daydream returns.   
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
‘Fuck!’ Jessica shouts.

It’s not unlike her, and it’s a flurry of shouts and kicks that don’t quite match. Danny isn’t having as much of a problem as he would have if he  _ didn’t _ have help, but their little group feels empty and distant when pressed this far back into the darkness. He doesn’t know where Luke is, can’t see him over the heads of the people who keep throwing kicks and punches at his head, but it’s not enough to cause a panic just yet. Danny dodges enough and finds his way back to Jessica, shoving aside one of the guys who closed in on her too tight.

She’s sweating and her face is tight. There’s not enough room for her powers to really shine through, but she’s punched enough people that the crowd is quickly fading. She thanks Danny as well as she does at any given time and flies up for leverage. That leaves him quickly scanning the room to find some sort of out. There’s a crane right in the middle of everything.

It reminds him too much of Midland Circle.

It’s just like Midland Circle. There are creepy goons that don’t really say much, and they all seem to be a part of something bigger than they’re letting on. Danny has a hard time fighting them on his own, and even with Jessica at his side he still seems to be suffering a bit from being underprepared. It was different, then. They had—

They didn’t have time to prepare then. They barely had time to exchange names and get to know each other, but it didn’t change how  _ hard _ and  _ fast _ everything felt. Danny found reliable friends he could count on, and that was something.

‘Danny, look out!’ Jessica yells at him.

It’s belated, and he gets punched in the back of the head by someone much taller than him. Danny stumbles forward with a groan, lights dancing frantically, exacerbated by the pain that stabs through his head every time he breathes.

‘Shit,’ Danny mumbles. ‘Fuck—’ His head won’t stop spinning.

He could summon his Chi. He could do it. He could bring this whole building down while he still had the chance and stop  _ everything. _

He’s not really sure why he doesn’t, except it’s at that moment that Luke bursts through one of the doors. He’s absolutely frightening when he’s pissed. Luke isn’t the kind of guy that fights with ease. He’d rather be a defensive part of the line, to stand at the back and try not to get too involved. But he’s shouting and yelling know, punching people right and left.

Danny joins back in as best he can. He’s a little dazed, and his ears are ringing—but it doesn’t stop him. It helps somewhat. The more focused he is, the faster he seems to fight. He breathes in and holds it, and  _ hits _ as hard as he can.

Danny grabs one of the guys running passed him. He hits the man a little too hard and watches his legs collapse right beneath him. Jessica drops someone from the second floor, and tosses another before Danny can even  _ think _ about the damage that probably did. It only takes a few minutes to make things less hectic. The dust is beginning to settle, not so clouded, and Danny is finally starting to feel normal again when the sky rumbles. The thunder sounds closer than it could possibly be.

And then it  _ storms. _ Danny pushes his hair back out of his face and stares incredulously at the sky. His heart is hammering a little too hard in his chest, threatening to burst. A canary singing of doom.

‘What the fuck is that?’ Jessica says. Her hair is sticking to her cheeks when she drops to the ground.

‘It’s raining,’ Danny says dumbly.

‘Yeah, no  _ shit,’ _ Jessica snorts.

‘Guys, you have to come see this!’ Luke calls. He’s holding someone tightly in his arms.

It’s a man that doesn’t really look like he belongs on a battlefield. He’s short, with a beard that doesn’t match his face shape. He’s squirming, but smirking like a cat that’s been fed cream. He has the insignia of the group pinned to the lapels of his jacket, and thick rings on his swollen fingers. His glasses are cracked from the fight.

‘Who are you?’ Danny demands.

‘Wouldn’t you like to know?’ the man aks. He tosses his head wildly. ‘Would you put me down? I’m the only one who can explain what’s going on!’

‘You’ll have to explain like this, unfortunately,’ Luke says delicately. He squeezes the man a little tighter around the waist until he’s groaning. ‘There’s no chance you’re getting out.’

The man doesn’t look like anyone they should know. There’s barely been conversation sprouting up about whatever’s happening, and Danny isn’t too sure he can trust anyone that  _ suddenly _ knows what’s happening after this much radio silence. Jessica looks just as suspicious.

‘Who are you?’ Jessica repeats sharply.

She’s touchy and prowling, lips dragged back in a snarl as she appraises the man in Luke’s arms. She has a profound hatred for those that seem holier-than-thou and refuse to speak. Danny touches her on the arm. She unclenches her fists at her sides.

‘I’m not telling you a thing until you put me down!’ the man insists. He jerks his chin to keep his glasses from falling further down his nose. ‘I’m telling you—’

‘No dice, shithead,’ Jessica says, and  _ swings _ at him.

She punches him so hard Luke feels it. It shoves them backwards into a makeshift wall.

Danny grabs her before she can hit the mysterious man again, and she shoves him off just as roughly. She busies herself by shoving her hair back and out of her face, hands ripping at her jacket and scarf without really finding purchase on the fabric.

‘The  _ fuck _ is wrong with the sky?’ Jessica demands. She puts her hands on her hips for emphasis. The man opens his mouth. ‘And don’t try to act like you don’t know. You obviously know.’

‘I cannot tell you,’ the man says simply.

Jessica raises her eyebrow. Wrong answer. She raises her fist again.

She doesn’t hit him. It’s like the energy saps out of her all of a sudden, causing her shoulders to sag and her breath to punch out of her chest. The rain is still drumming steadily on the mismatched construction hanging around. It would make a pretty picture. It almost  _ is _ except for the apocalypse that seems to be building up beneath everyone’s bones. Danny licks his lips and pushes his hair back out of his face again. Luke’s expression is stormy.

‘Let’s get out of this weather before we get sick,’ Danny suggests. ‘We can take him somewhere else and get him to confess there.’

‘It’s been a long night,’ Luke agrees. ‘Besides, I don’t think I can hold him much longer. I don’t think I want to.’ He purses his lips. ‘This isn’t really my style, you know?’

The man protests. His words are drowned out by the thunder rolling through. Luke passes him to Jessica. She grimaces, but she’s stronger and can actually  _ fly _ —and while it’s not entirely inconspicuous, it’s faster than dragging him to some abandoned city block where they can weasel out answers. She rolls her eyes before she jumps into the air, because she’s consistent like that.

It’s just Danny and Luke. Luke, and Danny. An unsteady silence. Danny briefly shifts his gaze over every once in awhile, but Luke is wonderfully silent on their stroll. He keeps his hands in his pockets. He doesn’t reach over and pat Danny like he’s about to break, like Danny figures he wants to do anyway. After all, it’s been a long night.

‘How are you?’ Danny blurts out.

It’s smooth, and uncalled for. They aren’t strangers, but they don’t feel as close as they should. Luke spares him a glance. The way he’s walking makes Danny think there’s something on his mind.

‘I’m good,’ Luke says. ‘And you?’

‘I’m fine,’ Danny says quickly. ‘I’m good—I’m  _ better _ than fine, really. I’ve been meditating a lot.’ He’s been getting punched a lot. ‘I’ve been working on clearing my mind.’

‘Interesting,’ Luke says blandly. There’s a brief moment where Danny thinks it’s supposed to be cutting and sharp, like that argument they had when they first met. Instead, he just sounds exhausted but caring. ‘I’m not going to…’ He pauses. ‘I believe you.’

‘Um, good,’ Danny says. ‘I believe me too.’

It’s entirely as unconvincing as it sounds. The words don’t sit right in Danny’s mouth, feel too heavy on his tongue. He’s not actively falling apart, but he’s not as sturdy on his feet as he would like to pretend to be. The world is getting to be a little  _ too _ much for his shoulders, but that’s his problem, and his alone. Luke doesn’t say anything again until they’re almost to their destination. He takes his time stepping out of the rain. When Danny doesn’t immediately follow him, he watches.

‘You don’t have to come in,’ Luke tells him finally. He follows up without much warning, and it pushes the air out of Danny’s lungs harder than any punch would. ‘If it reminds you too much of him.’

Danny snorts. ‘I’m not delicate. I think I can handle interrogating someone—’

‘I didn’t say you couldn’t,’ Luke interrupts. ‘I said you didn’t have to. Just in case. We’ve all been a little weird.’ He licks his lips. ‘It’s okay to take a night off.’

_ he would have wanted you to have a night off, _ Danny remembers faintly. It wakes up a storm in his blood, sets his mouth in something almost akin to a petulant pout. He’s dealt with his fair share of dark disasters. He grounds his feet. The world is a little blurry right now.

There’s a kind of ugly anger building up. It’s not specific towards anyone, but it’s not without fault. It makes his hands shake a little, reminds him of the bruises along his lungs as he struggles to maintain semblance of peace. There are thoughts swirling around—and maybe if it were another time, he would have said them all without waiting.

Sure, they all mean well. Jessica and Luke have been  _ talking _ about it without him. They’ve been watching him on the nights they’ve been together, trying to do work together that’s inevitably dragged them back into each other’s worlds. Danny’s almost positive they’d like it if they didn’t have to deal with him and his raging emotions. It’s just the same as before.

Danny steels himself and raises his chin. ‘Daredevil is  _ dead,’ _ he says firmly. ‘Matt Murdock is  _ dead. _ I get it—I understand it. I’m an adult, and I’ve lost people before.’

‘Danny, I’m not trying to baby you,’ Luke says, but Danny interrupts before he can say anything else.

‘Matt’s dead, Luke! He’s gone, and—and it sucks, it really sucks, but it’s part of what we do,’ Danny says, breath shuddering slightly. His gaze is wide-eyed, a little wild. God, he really wants to cry. He won’t. ‘But he told me I have to try. I have to keep going. I can’t sit out just because it might upset me. You should admit it too. You and Jess.’ He swallows. ‘You should both admit that Matt. Is. Dead.’

Vigilantes die. Vigilantes are hunted down and  _ punished, _ chased and persecuted by people who hate them, and there’s nothing they can do to change it. If Danny admits that it hurts, it’s only going to make things worse. He can’t be afraid of it. He just has to accept it. It’s their fate.

‘You’re right,’ Luke says finally, softly. ‘I guess I’ve been avoiding it.’

‘Matt is dead,’ Danny says. ‘Matt’s dead.’

Luke shoves his hands in his pockets, scowling at the ground. ‘Matt’s dead.’

It’s not final. The candles they’ve lit in memory. The ways they’ve been avoiding saying it. They’re not final, but  _ this _ is. Danny wipes at his face, thankful for the rain. He’s a little numb, nose cold and skin raised from the weather. Luke pushes open the door to their little hideout and follows behind Danny. He places his hand at the small of Danny’s back.   
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Danny knows the look Claire is giving him is anything but good, but it’s hard to see out of his swollen eye. He’s been punched who  _ knows _ how many times tonight by a mugger who happened to get lucky. She cuts the thread right above his eyebrow. It’s too loud.

‘Do I even  _ want _ to know?’ she asks tiredly.

_ these wounds look awful familiar, _ but she doesn’t say it to his face. Danny’s thankful for that. He’s not sure what he would have said if she had.

‘I’m just keeping my promise,’ he says earnestly.

The flame of the candle barely flickers.

‘I thought I could handle it,’ he says as an afterthought. ‘I’m just tired.’

‘Will you at least take some ibuprofen?’

Claire’s already rattling away in the cabinet. It’s a pointed question. Danny knows where it’s directed, but that doesn’t make it hurt less. He snorts and plays with the zipper of his jacket, running it back and forth across the teeth. He’s tempted to tell her. He supposes she already knows.

‘Yeah,’ Danny says. ‘Yeah. I think—I’d like that.’

It’s not an exact warpath he’s been set on. There’s nothing clearly laid ahead of him. He’s not filling in the lines, or putting the last few pieces of the puzzle together. It’s brand new and unknown, and crime is still going on, but it’s not quite the same. Danny is still learning his way around the streets and finding out who bites hard and if he can bite back harder. Petty thievery was never his forté.

‘You’ve got a suit or something, right? Or I  _ will _ tell Luke,’ Claire says.

‘Red kevlar and everything,’ Danny tells her. ‘It’s practically identical.’

She fights a smile. ‘It’s  _ practically _ a terrible idea.’

It’s an unfamiliar settlement. They’re stepping into an unfamiliar area. Claire’s not exactly the type to be okay with things like this, and while she’s understandably frustrated, she’s not mad.

Maybe she gets it. Maybe, in another universe, she would be doing the exact same thing. Danny leans his head against her shoulder when she comes back to slouch in her chair. She runs his fingers through his hair and plays with the golden curls. They’re still damp, but she doesn’t complain.

‘I miss him,’ Claire says softly. ‘I miss seeing his dumbass horns.’

‘They’re stupid,’ Danny says fondly.

It doesn’t stop him from reaching across the table to grab his duffel bag. He pulls his replica out from it and runs his thumb across the edge of the mask where the nosepiece filters into a sharp point.

Claire’s breath catches at the sight of it. Heartbroken, something else. Definitely reeling, but she reaches for it anyway. It’s hard seeing her look at it, slowly turning it in her fingers like it’s something holy that’ll shatter if she moves too quickly. It’s pathetically red.

It’s a perfect plaster formed to fit Danny’s face this time around instead of  _ his.  _ There’s a list of reasons stored somewhere as to why this is a bad idea.  _ He _ made enemies that Danny never learned the names of, and there are people who could hurt if they saw someone running around looking familiar. The newspapers have been dying for a story like this.

Claire is still touching the mask delicately. She’s close to sobbing. It’s disconcerting. Danny’s not sure if taking away the mask would make it better or worse, so he doesn’t try. He just watches and ices his bruised ribs, bouncing a knee, waiting for it to be over. For it to begin. Whichever comes first.

There’s still a long way to go on this path, but he’s not walking alone. Claire hands back the mask delicately and chews on her bottom lip, and Danny watches the conflict grow. He knows it’s not the best decision he’s ever made, but it’s one of the one that really feels like his. It might end in fire, but that’s inevitable.

‘You have to be careful, Danny,’ Claire says finally, voice thick. ‘I think his friends would really be hurt if they saw you running around in this.’

‘I won’t let them see me,’ Danny tells her. He notices her hands haven’t stopped shaking.

‘Let’s go to bed,’ she says suddenly. ‘I’ll make up the couch. You need rest, and you  _ will _ rest.’

It sounds like an argument she’s made time and time again, but Danny isn’t a fan of running around with bruised ribs. And while he hadn’t used his  _ powers, _ he’s too tired to even try drawing it in until he feels better. He catches the pillow she tosses at him from mid-air and holds it closed to his chest as he approaches the couch. He flops down on it and sighs.

He doesn’t really dream about much when he sleeps. He used to have incredible dreams filled with vibrant colors and exotic sights. There would be waterfalls and grand, old palaces that reminded him of when he was young. Danny tosses and turns on most nights, still gripped with the fear that something awful will happen if he lets himself relax for more than a minute. His nightmares aren’t as bad as they were, but he still dreams of the Hand and the way the Black Sky stole the light from the city.

Danny sleeps just as restlessly this night as he does others. He wakes up just before four and sneaks out before Claire can change her mind, or say anything to try and change his.   
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Danny hits them harder than he should. He hits them until his knuckles are aching and sore, scabbing over from the force of the impact. He doesn’t stop until they’re purple and swollen. It’s not  _ his _ lack of control. It’s the face he’s borrowing. It’s the person or the ghost, the replication of another dream. He gets distracted by the iridescent wings of a butterfly.

Hitting people isn’t really his style. He just can’t stop once he’s started.

It’s a pollutant.

It kind of makes him feel something for once. A wispy, tired kind of anger. Frustration. No matter how many bad people Danny ties up for the police, there always seems to be more waiting.

In a sick sense, it’s kind of therapeutic. He’s spent so much time meditating, hoping that finding peace in his heart would do  _ something _ to make up for everything that’s happened (—a chase, that perhaps the power of it could make a weary mind forget.) Danny is tired of being on his knees. He’s tired of feeling. Right now, in the rain, the only thing he can feel are his knuckles.

Stiff, and brooding. Brawling. A little stalking, sliding down the sides of short walls to show up behind a mugger. Danny is dressed in dark red with a familiar mask, and the recognition puts a shiver down his spine. It gives him a sense of ease.

Danny rolls his shoulders back and takes it. He gets a comeuppance, and then he doesn’t. He feels that righteous burn in his lungs and revels in it. He finds missing souls and shows them where to go. He  _ reaps _ those who deserve punishment and passes their thoughts on to someone else.  _ He’s _ the Devil now, and the city rests knowing it. His reappearance has put a damper on things for the criminals. The only ones showing up now are younger, less-skilled brawlers he don’t know any better. Danny smiles at those whispers in the wind. The Devil is back, and you should run.

The Devil is back.

It burns in his blood. It  _ burns _ when lightning strikes and sets the world on fire, fills up the murky city air with the scent of dogwood and thorns. Danny lets the rain put it out.   
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
It’s Matt. He’s there.

He’s taking dreamy, shallow breaths but he’s  _ there. _ His ribs are bandaged up, but it doesn’t hide the fact that his skin is black and blue and  _ broken. _ There’s a split in his eyebrow.

Matt is alive and breathing, quietly and faintly, hushed. There’s proof of the stigmata on his hands where the wounds have bled through the fabric, and his fingers are curled weakly towards his palm. Aching. More proof of that tender brokenness.

Danny’s afraid to touch him. It could be some fever-induced hallucination. It could be something else entirely, like a ploy or an attack by that unnamed organization that made the sky rupture. It’s been raining in New York for days on end now with no signs of stopping, and people are starting to worry. The sky opens up, and Matt reappears. It’s too good to be true.

Jessica is handling it about as well as Danny figured she would. As soon as she saw, she whispered a hoarse  _ fuck you _ and turned out of the room, refusing to come back inside.

Claire isn’t really doing much better. She spends most of the afternoon with her hands over her mouth and her eyes closed, sitting on her ratty little sofa. She won’t listen to anything anyone says. She waves them away if they get too close. Mumbles something hateful about ghosts.

Luke found him, but even he won’t say much about it.

It’s bizarre, and so far out of left field that Danny isn’t completely sure it would make sense even if they did have all the pieces. Resurrection isn’t new—isn’t something they should be surprised about, but it’s still spooky. Uncomfortable. It makes the little hairs on the back of Danny’s neck stand up. He’s swallowing some hard lump in his throat over and over even though it won’t go down. Matt, for what it’s worth, doesn’t wear death terribly.

He’s just  _ there _ . Eyes closed. Lips slightly parted, but chapped beyond repair. His facial hair has grown out more than the delicate trim it was before. His face seems a little hollow, a touch sunken in, and the bruises across his cheeks are frighteningly dark. The shape of rubble, and that’s the worst of it.

He’s unkempt, and that’s unlike him. His beard has grown out, not terrible, but full and thick as a reminder of what life could be. And he’s  _ hairy _ everywhere else, chest curled up tight and warm beneath the bandages fighting infection and shock. It makes Danny curious of everywhere else, and that’s not the right direction to be going in. It makes Danny curious of  _ before, _ and he licks his lips and looks away before he can get caught.

Danny isn’t scared. Scared isn’t the right word. It’s something else that’s making him tense. And it could pass for happiness if he were anyone else, but there’s a special kind of anxiety building up. It’s making him tense and tight and flighty. He just can’t imagine himself running right now.

Luke is leaning in the corner watching. He’d come closer too if he weren’t so shocked, or that’s what Danny likes to believe. He seems to be biding his time.

Defensive, like he was meant to be. A genuine  _ Defender _ in every sense of the world. They share one of those looks that can’t quite be expressed the right way in words, staring at one another wordlessly but not nodding or moving or breathing. They’re just existing.

Danny reaches for Matt’s hand. He’s careful of the crumpled fingers and bloody bandages, unable to stop himself from tracing a pale blue vein at the base of Matt’s wrist. There’s not a reaction. He shouldn’t have expected one. He can’t help himself.

_ matt’s dead, _ he’d said, but he’s here.

Danny can’t help it. He rubs his thumb across Matt’s dry skin and tries to not push down too hard in case it causes pain. It hurts just to look at him. They should cover him up, or do something else so that he isn’t so hard to look at. Danny leans forward, shaking. His senses aren’t as keen as Matt’s, but if their situations were reversed, he’d think Matt would do the same. He’d think Matt would smell him just  to see, but there’s not much beneath the smell of blood and dogwood and fire.

Danny’s heart has never beat as fast. It’s banging against his ribs begging to be let out. To do something. To say anything. There’s no way he can have any other thought, and it’s hard to get passed. He’s so nervous he’s going to break Matt further he pulls away.

‘Danny,’ Luke says warningly.

Don’t get too close, because there’s no way this is going to end well. Danny answers him with a short hum but doesn’t move from where he’s perched on the edge of the bed. It’s dipping with his weight, and dipping with Matt’s too. He can hear the springs squeak every time he moves. He wonders what it would sound like on any other night but this one.

‘I could use the Fist,’ Danny says, hushed. He watches in fascination as Matt’s breathing stutters from the pressure on his chest. ‘To see. Just a little bit. I could help.’

‘I don’t think that’s a good idea,’ Luke says. ‘What if that’s—What if it’s like that Elektra chick all over again? You can’t be too tired in case he tries anything.’ That’s sensible, at least.

‘You really think he’s going to hurt us after having a building dropped on him?’ Danny asks.

Luke gives a long-suffering sigh that isn’t really like him. It goes to show that he’s been hanging out with Jessica for that long. They’re picking up habits from each other. They’re back to being drinking buddies, and Danny isn’t jealous, but it could be steadily building.

‘We don’t want to take any chances,’ Luke tells him.

‘It’s Matt,’ Danny says thoughtlessly.

Luke’s eyeroll is  _ that _ obvious. ‘Yeah, and about three hours ago,  _ Matt _ was still dead.’

So Danny doesn’t use his Fist. He thinks about it though. He’s positive that the Chi could do something positive to reinforce those brittle bones that make up the gentle dip of Matt’s chest. It could make his breathing steadier. It could do anything. He doesn’t even though he’s determined to make a difference. Luke leaves to grab Claire.

She begrudgingly comes and Jessica hesitantly follows. She’s nursing her flask, eyes flat and bitter, and still posed like she’s incredibly suspicious. She and Luke have that in common, but  _ one _ of them has to have hope that this isn’t terrible and that it’ll be fine. Matt’s back, and that counts for something.

Danny doesn’t use his Fist. He thinks that maybe he should, just in case. He thinks he should be feeling something a little different. Something less like  _ relief _ and something more like  _ wariness. _

It’s those frivolous emotions that keep him from being grounded. He’s headstrong and brash, and he doesn’t really think things through before he does them. He’s running around in a suit that’s not really his protecting people that he doesn’t really know—and now Danny is trembling with a touch of hope. He wants to reach out and touch Matt. He wants to see if there’s something.

Jessica certainly isn’t there for whatever he’s thinking. She puts her hands on Matt’s shoulders and holds him down while Claire inspects him. It’s one of the worst things Danny has ever seen. They’re cautious and afraid. He should be.

‘I fucking hate zombies,’ Jessica mumbles.

Claire gives her a faint smile. ‘I’m really starting to miss normal,’ she agrees, slowly peeling back the bandages on Matt’s palms. She lets out a shuddering breath. ‘God, this is—’

Horrible. Terrible. Impossible to look at. Danny doesn’t have a lot of knowledge about things that have happened within the last decade, but he knows allusions to myths about as well as anyone else. Matt’s hands are charred right in the middle just like every martyr. The stigmata is a perfect circle snuggled against his palm. Danny looks back at Luke with wide eyes.

‘Do you think it’s really him?’ Luke asks. He swallows roughly.

‘Won’t know for sure until he wakes up,’ Claire says. ‘If he wakes up.’ She sighs. ‘We should get him to a hospital. There’s only so much I can do if he stays asleep.’

Matt’s breath hitches. Jessica lets go of him like he’s suddenly burning a thousand degrees and backs away clumsily, knocking into the wall before she can really process where everything is. It’s  _ Danny _ that takes a step forward to see what’s really going on, ignoring how Luke grasps at his hood to keep him from going. He grabs Matt’s wrist again, slides his thumb across a pulsepoint while Claire stares.

It happens sooner than anyone thinks. Danny blinks, and then Matt has his hand tight around Claire’s throat, nails digging in— _ too _ tight, because his knuckles are already turning white from the pressure.

‘Matt, don’t—’

He’s sitting up, and while his grip doesn’t change, he asks calmly, ‘Where am I?’

It’s hard to tell what kind of look he’s wearing. Matt’s eyes never directly meet with anyone’s, hovering somewhere near the door. His mouth quirks slightly when Claire grabs his arm and tries to pull free. She’s gasping slightly, definitely afraid. She pulls her nails down his arm.

Luke doesn’t really give anyone else the time to react. It takes  _ seconds _ for him to cross the room, and even less to grab at the bruising around Matt’s forearms. He squeezes until Matt’s hissing and letting go. It’s ugly and too close to infighting for Danny to feel comfortable.

‘Don’t,’ Danny says faintly. ‘Don’t hurt him.’

‘You must be out of your  _ goddamn _ mind, Rand!’ Jessica snaps. ‘We don’t know—’

‘Matt,’ he says. Matt’s gaze wordlessly drifts toward him. ‘Matt, it’s us.’ Danny hates how breathless he sounds, like he’s some kind of damsel. ‘Do you recognize us yet? Tell ‘em you didn’t mean to hurt Claire. C’mon, Matt.’

Jessica’s expression grows darker, but she doesn’t say anything. Luke finally lets Matt’s go. But Matt doesn’t say anything. He tilts his chin like he’s listening for something, but stays quiet.

It would be disconcerting if it were anyone else. It’s not, and even though Danny figures it should be, he’s not really scared of what’s going on. He’s never been brought back from the dead, but it seems like one of those events in life that just doesn’t  _ mesh _ well. They all stand there and wait. He’s surprised Luke’s managing to do even that considering how much he cares about Claire, and Jessica is struggling to stay where she is. She’d beat Matt’s ass back into his grave if she thought she could get away with it.

‘I’m not playing this stupid ass game,’ Luke says flatly.

‘Matt,’ Danny tries again. ‘Say something, dude.’

He thinks he hears a murmur of ‘three.’ Matt’s lips barely move, and there’s no way to prove anything. They stand around bleeding into the color red and waiting for the bells to ring. Danny’s starting to feel a little desperate. He can’t stop fidgeting.

Jessica narrows her eyes. ‘Speak up, Murdock.’

_ be careful, danny, _ Colleen had said,  _ i’ll be back in town before you know it. _ He’d promised her back with an awkward hug and everything. She wanted rest, and Danny had intended to rest too. He had tried sitting around doing nothing. With the Hand taken care of, it had really seemed like they were going to be able to just have a few weeks to do nothing and worry about nothing. Colleen would be so pissed if she knew they were all standing around a dead man. Worse, she’d be on the other end of the rallying line with everyone else who doesn’t trust ghosts.

Danny sucks in air and holds it. Counts to ten and releases it. He’s feeling a little bit of deja vu déjà vu, remembering when they’d all huddled up in the restaurant listening to Stick talk about how they were all a bunch of dumbass. How Matt wasn’t thinking—and Danny hears him now, faintly, in the back of his mind. Now Danny is the one hoping things hinge on the power of recognition and lack of brainwashing. It’s almost ridiculous how they’ve come, cyclic and predictable.

Speak up, Murdock. Say something. Acknowledge the time. The clock is ticking. If it goes on for any longer, Danny thinks it might corrupt all the way and make a burst of flame none of them can withstand. He doesn’t have the guts for handing back memories.

‘Matt,’ Danny says—the last time.

Matt’s head tilts further. His lips part, and then he’s pressing his palms over his ears.

Their world implodes, just like that. Matt moves impossibly quick for someone whose ribs look like they’ve been shoved into their spine. He’s out of the bed before anyone can register it, and it might be because they aren’t used to it. Danny will never tell. He’s stepping back.

He’s just not expecting to get  _ hit _ so hard. It brings back memories of a short scuffle, the feeling of knuckles against his face constantly, his heart threatening to burst from the pressure (—dizzying, and faint horror:  _ please don’t let me die like this. i don’t deserve it. _ )

It’s a combination of swift strikes and flighty movement. Everyone is stumbling back out of the room to avoid that painful command. Matt is a whirlwind of moves Danny would never dare to do with his bones sticking out like that. Luke and Jessica are holding back—because their powers are a little more than anyone ever expects, and even though none of them are having it, there’s no outright desire to end this in a way that would be bloody. Murderous. Dangerous, and unlike them. Danny avoids a kick to the face and stumbles back, breaking Claire’s table on the way down.

It doesn’t stop Matt from shoving a knee into Danny’s sternum. It doesn’t stop him from raising his fists and beating them down, gaze hurried and unfocused, with short little gasps trying to alleviate the pressure from the bandages and the bruising. Danny’s blocking as best he can.

It hurts, though. A precarious shatter of devotion. There’s nothing holy about going down like the Devil, but if Danny uses his Fist, then it’s trouble.

He  _ can’t _ risk it.

He won’t, and he hopes he doesn’t have to.

Danny mumbles a quick apology when he punches Matt in his ribs. There’s a strangled noise that answers in return. It’s volatile and quick. He manages to shove Matt off of him and stand up, rolling his shoulders back to warm up.

He should say something. He has a million apologies lined up and waiting to go. Danny has been thinking of what to say ever since he got the call that morning, that Matt wasn’t dead, that Luke had found him hanging like Christ still unconscious but breathing. Danny could say  _ i missed you _ or  _ i did what you told me to do, _ but he hisses out a hoarse, ‘Fuck,’ to get his point across.

‘Luke’s gonna kick your ass,’ Danny adds as an afterthought.

It makes Matt pause though. Look somewhere that’s not at Danny but not away from him, eyebrows tugging together—and if that goddamn  _ beard _ wasn’t in the way, he’d be pouting. His hands go up to block his ears again, eyes uselessly wide.

‘That’s right,’ Luke says. ‘You hurt Claire.’

‘What are you listening to, Matt?’ Claire asks calmly. She’s hiding behind the counter, holding onto a pan. It’s not shaking in her hands. She’s unusually steady. ‘You only do that owl thing when you’re listening to something. Tell us what it is—We’re trying to help you.’

It doesn’t last long.

Matt  _ shoves _ Danny as hard as he can and runs passed them all. An unforgiving,  _ scalding _ light slices through the windows and it’s unreal when he throws himself through the glass.

Jessica flies after him, fingers stretched. Her fingers brush against his bare skin and close around nothing as he vanishes into it. There’s a powerful humming sound that gets louder and a blast of light that swallows everything it touches. Once he’s gone, the power cuts out.   
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
‘I’m  _ not _ doing this,’ Jessica says after a long pause, and then she’s chugging what’s left in her flask.

‘We need everyone,’ Danny argues. ‘We can’t just—I mean, honestly—’

‘No offense,’ Jessica says harshly, ‘but fuck you, Rand.’

Danny struggles to sit up. Nothing’s broken, but he’s sore—as hell, and tired. ‘Jess, I don’t think I can do this alone, or even want to,’ he says softly. ‘If you don’t want to, that’s fine, but…’

‘I get it,’ Jessica says. ‘We’re BFFs. We’re “bosom buddies.” But I just... _ can’t _ this time around.’

‘I won’t let anything happen to you,’ he promises.

‘It’s nothing like that,’ Jessica sighs. ‘It’s just been a long few months, okay? I don’t want to handle anything else. Maybe next year—I’ll help you kick all the undead ass you want.  _ Next _ year.’

It sounds final. Danny never asks. He doesn’t need to, doesn’t want to pry in things that never involved him and never will. It would be a shame if he did, but he can’t help but feel disappointed. He swallows the frustrated lump in his throat and lounges miserably against the bed, drowning in the overwhelming smell of what Matt’s left behind. It’s picturesque and terrifying all at the same time. He plays with the zipper on his hoodie and tries to not frown too much.

They’re his friends. He needs them. Danny can’t imagine a life where he  _ hadn’t _ met them, hadn’t stumbled in on some unknown organization that brought them all together. It’s not the best memory, but it’s not the worst memory. He only regrets one thing. He’s sure Jessica does too. He doesn’t have to look at her to know she looks sad.

She does. It’s not one of her usual looks. Her hair’s a mess, and she’s still wearing the same shirt and jeans from three days ago but has managed to shrug off her jacket in the process. Her expression is tighter than he’s used to seeing it. She pinches the bridge of her nose like she’s nursing a headache and sighs for so long, the rest of the world is beginning to get worried. Jessica isn’t the type to be morose in such a different way. She’s not even reaching for her flask. She’s just mourning.

‘I guess I’m—sorry, Danny,’ she says. At least it doesn’t sound sarcastic. He looks at her plainly and tries to not pout. ‘I wish you the best. I want you to kick Murdock’s ass too, by the way, for fucking up your face a little bit.’ Her mouth quirks.

Danny bites his lip. ‘I don’t want to kick his ass.’

Jessica barks out a short laugh and leans forward, patting the shoulder than isn’t sore. ‘Trust me, Rand,’ she tells him seriously. ‘You’re either gonna kick his ass or kiss him.’

He sputters uselessly as she waves him off, struggling to watch her chortle around the swelling of his eye. She pats him again empathetically before awkwardly staring and mumbling out goodbye. She doesn’t even wave with it. She just shoves her hands into her pockets and leaves.

That’s when he notices Luke standing in the doorway. Danny has been a little off about noticing things ever since he decided to take up an extra job, and it finally seems to be weighing down on him. He absolutely  _ should _ have noticed Luke since he finds it so damn hard to not  _ look _ at Luke when he thinks no one else is watching. He can’t help it. Luke saved his life more than once.

The thing about Luke is that he always looks slightly disappointed about life. His lips are carefully pushed into a pout, but he doesn’t look foreboding as he stands in the doorway with his hands shoved in his front pockets, matching in a way. He’s always looked a little soft despite his height, gentle and kind, and it’s made worse by the way his eyes roam Danny’s body like he’s assessing the damage even though there isn’t much.

It’s not alarming, but it’s different. It makes Danny tuck his blanket around his lap tighter just in case. Luke finally comes over and sits where Jessica was at.

‘Y’gonna kiss Matt?’ Luke asks dryly with a hint of a smile.

‘No!’ Danny says quickly. ‘I don’t know.’

It’s bad to lie, and he’s bad at it. He pointedly doesn’t look at Luke again.

‘Y’gonna kick his ass too?’ Luke asks. He’s playing with his hands nervously in his lap, pressing the tips of his fingers around and tenting them. He’s thinking. ‘I think you should.’

‘That didn’t—’ Danny closes his eyes at that. ‘That didn’t go over well last time.’

He’s talking about the time  _ before, _ when everyone still had their ducks in a row. He’d been angry and upset, and he probably shouldn’t have lashed out and hit Matt like he did. He still feels bad about it from time to time—dreams about the sound of breaking a chair over Luke’s shoulders.

He mulls it over. He’s thankful that it’s not a clouded memory. He can reach for it and remember. It grounds him in times when he thinks that things are about to go south quick. Luke hasn’t left him alone since the last fight, checking in all the time except for when he can’t and Danny is out doing something perilous. He’s been persistent about caring. That’s what makes it odd.

Luke touches his cheek out of nowhere. ‘Hey, do you mind if I—’ he starts, but he doesn’t finish. He leans closer until his lips are ghosting over Danny’s.

He  _ kisses _ like he watches, quiet but very much there. It’s not the most romantic thing, since the pressure of it makes the split in Danny’s lip burn and Luke has to carefully cradle his cheek to avoid the bruising. It’s tender, and hesitant like no one has been before. When it’s done, Danny is reeling.

‘What?’ he says dumbly, fingers flexing against the blanket.

Luke shrugs. ‘I had to.’ He doesn’t pretend to want to explain.

‘But I yelled at you,’ Danny says. He blinks frantically. ‘I hit you. With my  _ Fist. _ Hard.’

‘Yeah,’ Luke says. ‘But it’s all good now. Dunno what good it is to hang on to it.’

‘Since when?’ Danny blurts out, chokes on it.

Luke stares at him. Danny doesn’t explain. The words wouldn’t sound right if he said them, but they’re on the edge of his tongue. Tempting him. Demanding it.

He catches onto the edge of tomorrow, eyelashes thick and heavy across the curve of his cheek. It’s not an act of being demure, and he’s not nervous, not really. But he should say  _ something _ even if it changes everything. He’s never been good at that part of interacting. Scrambling. Wanting to fit in. Danny wants to ask Luke to kiss him again.

As if life isn’t confusing enough on its own, but he can’t stop feeling curious about the way it would feel again. Things are only complicated when you make them—and Danny is good at making things hard.

Luke doesn’t say anything again. It’s just him sitting in a rickety chair in the only spare room of Claire’s apartment. He moves to pick up the ice pack Danny has left sitting against the edge of the bed and presses it gingerly against the swelling of Danny’s cheek where Matt had gotten him good. Where  _ Matt _ had touched him without remorse. It doesn’t hurt as much as it should thanks to the adrenaline.

‘But why?’ Danny asks.

It’s all his scrambled brain could come up with. He takes the ice from Luke and cradles it on his own, staring hard at where his toes are poking out from under the blanket. He wiggles them to avoid thinking. He closes his eyes, thankful it makes his skin not feel as tight.

‘You know, I was asking myself the same thing not too long ago,’ Luke begins without much meaning. He shrugs and looks at something very distant. ‘But you’ve changed. We’ve all changed.’

The  _ some of us more than others _ goes without saying. Luke doesn’t clarify his point, and Danny doesn’t ask him to. He just squeezes until he feels the Ziploc bag burst from the pressure. The little water from the melted pieces trickles down his forearm. Neither of them say anything about it. Neither of them even dare to point it out They’re focusing on something important.

‘You’re not...jealous?’ The words taste terrible.

‘No,’ Luke says honestly. ‘Not even a little bit. It would make sense if I was.’

The water pools in the crease of his elbow. He’s wearing another one of Luke’s torn up shirts, but it hardly matters.

‘I guess I get it,’ Danny mumbles.

‘There’s no way,’ Luke says. ‘Even I don’t get it.’

The silence finally draws Danny’s attention. He’s not  _ scared, _ not a child. He lowers the ice pack again and watches a wet spot build in his lap.

He’s walking a fine trapeze between here or there, arms out alongside to even out his weight. He’s stepping lightly and prettily as though there’s nothing to worry about. He tastes the stars and licks the sky to see if there’s something worth bragging about. Danny wants it all in the palm of his hand without any worry. He wants to feel the weight of it press down against his palm. He wants it to become whole.

Life doesn’t quite work that way, and it’s fine if it doesn’t want to. But he can  _ have _ this if he really wants it. He can reach it, and take it, and no one will think otherwise.

‘I’m going to kiss you,’ Danny says faintly.

Luke leans forward in reply, lips parted.

He tastes like the stars. Like heaven and forgiveness—the brightest flash of lights as the stars milk it out. If they shouldn’t do it, it’s only because it’s in someone else’s place.

Luke doesn’t accuse him of having any other thoughts. He doesn’t point fingers or make harsh accusations. He cradles Danny’s jaw like he’s delicate. He kisses him like that too. It’s slow and nice, and he keeps his hands chaste though his tongue does wicked things. It’s not a heavy kiss, but Danny feels like he’s underwater anyway and things are echoing because that’s how the world works. He finally lets himself touch Luke back.

He thumbs his fingers across the skin of Luke’s cheeks. He’s not swollen, and it’s a relief. He’s not broken, and he tastes like the stars. It’s dizzying and effective. It explodes around Danny like a fireball, and  _ he’s _ the one getting a little too into it. He sits up straighter and ignores the water that leaks out of the bag. He sits up, and puts his arms around Luke’s neck.

Luke does not accuse him of wandering thoughts. He doesn’t bring up Matt either. He can’t, not without disrupting everything they’ve built up for the time. Danny breaks away from the kiss to plant smaller ones along the edge of Luke’s jaw, nibbling gently when he thinks he can get away with it. Luke’s fingers tighten in his hair as a response.

‘Slow down,’ is what Luke murmurs after planting a kiss in his hair. ‘You’re hurt.’

It’s not mocking or sharp. He’s just pointing it out, like they’re talking about weather and how cloudy the sky has been since the thunder tore it open. Luke’s voice is slow like honey, and melting all the same. Danny wants to bottle up the sound of it and save it for later. For when he’s dreaming or having nightmares, shivering even though it’s not cold and suffering in the way only he can. Luke doesn’t stop kissing him despite his warning. Luke lets Danny tilt his chin back further.

Luke’s lips part willingly against his, and he makes an odd cooing sound when Danny licks across his lips. That’s definitely clumsy, and hardly worth mentioning. They don’t talk about it.

‘Just a little longer,’ Danny whispers back. ‘Please?’ He’s not begging yet.

So Luke kisses him again. Slower this time, but not lacking anything. When Danny gets a little too rowdy, Luke pushes against his collarbone lightly until he loosens up. There’s humming in his bones that he can’t get passed. There’s something ticking and he can’t put his finger on it, not yet, not ever.

Danny sighs into it and appreciates the bristle that tickles his cheek. He slides his hands down to hold onto Luke’s hood where it’s slipped around his shoulders, larger than most, fashionable. He tugs on it. He wants Luke to fall into him and see those eager pieces of his soul. It would be the sight to see—because Danny has the heart of a dragon. If there’s anyone out there that’s going to keep him lightheaded and steady, it’s Luke.

They make-out like they have all the time in the world. They move like molasses and relax like thinned lava tempted to cool until there’s nothing left for them to do. It doesn’t last forever, but they don’t get that luxury with the lifestyle they’ve been forced to choose. Danny makes it work now.

He doesn’t have a choice.  _ This  _ is all the time he has. He has to hold onto it, because the last time he didn’t hold onto something, he lost it and forgot to argue. Danny holds onto Luke tighter.

‘Shh,’ Luke hums, pushing Danny’s hair back.

‘I need—’ Danny hiccups. ‘I can’t stop,’ he whispers. ‘I can’t.’

He’s not reaching for anything below the belt, but his hands won’t stop shaking. Even if he was, he knows he’s not ready. He’s starting to focus on himself because he has to.

Luke sounds strangely mature. ‘We’ll make it work.’

And Danny trusts him. They work well together despite their differences and odds. Luke isn’t the type to appreciate the charade of an expensive life, and that’s grounding. He doesn’t take anything he doesn’t earned. Danny’s sure that he earned this, becomes reassured when Luke puts the necessary distance between them so Danny can think without being distracted. He shakes his head and reaches for what’s left of his life, hands shaking while he does it.

‘I’m not scared,’ Danny tells him.

It’s not a confession. The words that come tumbling out of his lips have nothing to do with this, or with anything at all. Luke gives him a questioning look but doesn’t give in to the words.

He kisses Danny once more and lightly. He’s unbreakable and says nothing about it. If he’s having hurt thoughts, then he doesn’t show it. Danny squeezes his hands as they move apart, and drifts again. Their time will run out eventually. They’re lucky this time, though. The timer has only just begun.   
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Claire goes out of town again to be away from it all for a while.

She doesn’t say anything. She doesn’t tell them she’s done and through. She just sighs heavily when she climbs into her cab.

Claire goes out of town, and Danny goes looking for a fight that night. He finds it in the form of a mugger who doesn’t know any better, and a guy that’s spent too much time harassing a girl for it to be acceptable. The rage that builds up in his chest doesn’t belong to him, but he doesn’t say goodbye to it. Danny welcomes the edge.

It keeps him grounded, he said once before. It helps him think and move. It’s better than  _ mourning _ and laying around, wishing it had happened to someone else, wishing it had happened to  _ him. _ Danny shakes his head and goes along. He wears the suit and strikes fear back where it belongs.

He tries hard to not get involved in too many endeavors, but he makes mistakes that no one would be able to avoid. He checks on Foggy and Karen and hates hearing them cry.

Danny goes out to where Luke had found Matt strung up and runs his fingers across the dogwood cross. It’s ironically placed and in the middle of nowhere, not a cemetery, but not somewhere public. There’s no other proof of what happened except for how the ground is dug up beneath it.

Danny picks the cross up and throws it as far as he can with an aggravated shout. He sits down in the dirt and digs his gloves into it. He thinks of Luke’s lips against his and scrambles for a hold on something.   
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Colleen comes home at the end of that month. She looks incredibly distressed when Danny explains what happened. The storm, and the strange man with glasses who’d refused to put up a fight. He tells her about how Matt had attacked Claire, and he swears he’s never seen her so angry. She bites her lip and keeps her hands in fists on top of the table. He pretends to not see them tremble.

‘I’m sick of this shit,’ she tells him. ‘Sick of it! There’s never going to be an end, is there?’

‘I don’t know,’ Danny says honestly. ‘I can’t see one.’

She rubs at her cheek tiredly. ‘So we have to fight Daredevil now? That sucks.’

It sucks, and it’s never been a good thing. She doesn’t want to use force against him more than anyone else. That’s a conversation they’re definitely going to have, but Colleen checks out before it happens.

‘I miss when we were free,’ she says softly, with a dumb smile.

‘We’re free now,’ he whispers. She shakes her head, but he doesn’t let her give up. ‘This is what freedom is. I’ve never felt more alive.’

His ribs ache and disagree. Colleen touches his face gently with her hands and skims his fading bruises. She doesn’t threaten Murdock. She doesn’t raise her fist and declare war on him. She looks exhausted like everyone else.

If there’s supposed to be more said, they don’t talk about it. They part eventually.

Danny sleeps restlessly. He can’t help but wonder what Luke is sleeping like on this night. He can’t help but wonder if Matt is sleeping at all.   
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
He’s glad Luke came.

He just hates that they’re meeting on these terms. They’re coming up with last minute plans, and Danny thinks he’d rather spend the time kissing.

‘What’s the plan?’ Luke asks.

He doesn’t offer to kiss Danny, and Danny doesn’t ask. There’s a quiet understanding there that went unspoken. That when things calm down, if they calm down, and if things start making sense, then they can talk about whatever they want for as long as they can. Danny’s been dying to find out the little things that make the world spin—what Luke’s favorite color is, how he likes his coffee, and if he’d like to go out on a date sometime.

Danny chokes on his thoughts. ‘Uh,’ he sputters. ‘I don’t really have one.’

‘Do you even know where we should start?’ Luke teases.

Like he knows. Danny’s being obvious.

‘We should,’ he says, ‘tell his friends, maybe? That seems like a good start.’

Luke frowns. ‘Do you want to do that?’

‘I think maybe you should,’ Danny says without a reason.

Luke sees right through it and snorts. It’s still a hard topic to talk about. There’s no set rules for telling someone’s friends that they’re not really dead, that they haven’t been dead for a long time. It shouldn’t be as hard as it is, but there’s a lump forming in Danny’s throat without trying.

‘I’ll tell them,’ Luke agrees. He drums his fingertips against the table.

They’re out grabbing coffee. They’re drinking across from one another, and Danny wants to know what’s in the cup. He doesn’t ask. He doesn’t dare to. He’s afraid to find out the answer and have it taken away a week later. He squeezes his own cup and looks for a reflection.

It’s not going well, and it probably never would have. Danny doesn’t want to  _ lead _ anyone anywhere, and Luke seems to be the same kind of laid-back that Matt and Jessica never were. Naturals, of course.

It’s a genuinely awkward experience that fizzles and goes nowhere. Danny scratches at his cheek and waits for some hint of salvation. A reminder, the comforting feeling of being around someone you love and trust. The coffee shop tinkers quietly in a side of town neither of them come to often, and that’s a sign enough.

‘And what will you do?’ Luke asks carefully.

‘I’ll go out,’ Danny says honestly. ‘I’ll look for clues. I’ll put on my best  _ Jessica Jones _ and skulk around when no one’s watching.’ He takes a sip from his cup, careful of the burning.

‘Do your best Shaggy impersonation,’ Luke agrees.

Danny doesn’t tell him he doesn’t quite remember what that means after years of being in a monastery. Luke isn’t cruel enough to try and explain it anyway. That’s the best part of all of this.

Luke is gorgeous, Danny thinks. When no one is looking. When he’s just sitting there out of the blue, oddly domestic. He’s sipping his coffee without saying a word, probably mulling over whatever it is he’s going to have to tell that Franklin guy and Page girl.

‘Do you think they’ll cry?’ Danny asks.

It’s soft, and unlike him. It shatters the world apart before he can really compartmentalize it.  _ They _ didn’t cry when it happened—but Jessica sort of did with the way she hid behind her scarf. But Danny hadn’t. He’d burned with determination and anger.

Luke doesn’t like talking about it. He’s not the kind of guy who would like  _ thinking _ about it either. All the death and destruction, and the things he could have avoided if he hadn’t been given a curse and a blessing. His lips quirk at the question.

Danny gives him time to think about. He wishes he had the energy to cry over it. The news and revelation, and the thought of having Matt back in his life one way or another. He’d never thought it would be through misguided resurrection. He’s not even sure Elektra has anything to do with it, or the scattered remnants of the Hand that have all but dispersed after the crash landing above their precious dragon bones.

He doesn’t want to know if the Hand had a part in it. They’ll inspire twisted corruption in the heart of anyone who sits around long enough to listen—and that’s the dangerous part, the frustrating half to the story. Danny doesn’t want Matt to be anywhere near those people who’ve taken from him.

‘They’re bound to,’ Luke says. ‘They cried when he didn’t come back. I think they cared enough.’

‘Even if it’s not him?’

Luke leans back in his chair. ‘So that’s where you went off to just now. Weren’t you determined?’

‘What if we have to—’ Danny chokes, forces his voice to lower. ‘What if it’s not?’

‘We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it,’ Luke says evenly.

Danny doesn’t want to cross a bridge. He doesn’t want to think of the possibilities, or what’ll happen if they manage to grab Matt, but it isn’t really him.

‘I don’t mean to be so...negative,’ Danny says honestly.

‘Guess he rubbed off on you more than you thought,’ Luke says.

It’s not an accusation. It’s said with reverence—a hint of promise at the growth.

And is that what it takes? Is that what causes the moon to rise and fall? Some problematic figure of thinking that becomes reformed after some great tragedy? Danny scoffs and doesn’t mean to, wrinkles his nose and clenches his fingers too tight around the cup.

How childish. That he couldn’t even  _ save _ a man when he had the chance. He could have grabbed Matt, could have shoved him toward the elevator and forced him to stand on it. He could have hit Elektra harder and kept her down. He could have—but it wasn’t his decision to make. That’s what  _ hurts. _

There were many things Danny could have done. He’d had the time and the creativity, yet Matt had breathed against his cheek and he’d forgotten everything. He’d left part of his heart down there.

A touch shocks him out of his reverie. Luke’s hand is comforting and warm against the back of his hand, and Danny turns his palm over so their fingers brush lightly. He doesn’t say what’s on his mind, and Luke doesn’t ask him to or seem to care. These are the struggles he’ll have to live with for as long as this battle goes on.   
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Danny stands at the ruins of Midland Circle. There’s debris all around and nothing to show for the dark descent down below. He’s wearing someone else’s garb again and it suits him well. Helps, but barely. He stands firm and doesn’t know what to do with his hands. They flutter anxiously at his sides as the time goes on. He can hear sirens all around.

He doesn’t have heightened senses or impeccable hearing, but he can tell when people are walking around and getting closer. It’s not unlikely, but he doesn’t want to take any chances. He settles amongst the rubble where he probably belongs, where  _ they’d _ all be if they had decided to stay down with misguided solidarity. Danny closes his eyes and tries to not shiver. It’s not even cold.

‘So,’ a voice says. ‘This is where it began and ended.’

The creation of time, or some speculative bullshit that doesn’t make sense to anyone else. Danny glances up over some rock to try and get a better look. There’s a man dressed from head-to-toe in black, and Danny wished he didn’t recognize the lean muscle beneath it. The person standing next to him is handsome too, but in a wicked way.

‘You understand now, don’t you?’ the man with the glasses says.

‘They left me here,’ Matt says, tone wavering.

‘They  _ abandoned _ you,’ the man encourages, and he touches Matt on the arm, above the elbow and doesn’t let go. ‘Do you remember yet?’

‘No,’ Matt says. It’s small, unlike him. ‘I don’t remember.’

He used to command the room.

Matt doesn’t seem like he’s commanding anything now. It must be different since there’s something missing in him. Danny hates hearing it, and he wants to jump in. There’s some guy filling Matt’s head with  _ nonsense, _ and it’s giving Danny a door to memories he doesn’t want to remember.

‘I’m all you have now,’ the man says.

It’s a lie, but Matt doesn’t call him out on it. He tilts his chin curiously. Danny knows that look well. He ducks further beneath the rock and is grateful nothing slides out from under him. He can’t see anymore, but that might be for the best. He doesn’t know what he would do if he saw that man touch Matt anymore. Controlling, and—

Controlling. Danny thinks he gets it now with Jessica’s adamant hesitation. He doesn’t know everything, but he’s not an idiot. Once it’s done, he’ll give her an apology and beg until she forgives him. He hates that he even tried to talk her into it.

‘There’s someone here,’ Matt says clearly, loudly.

‘Find him! Bring him to me.’

It’s an unforgiving order, harsh and abrupt. Danny thinks he could have gotten away with it somehow, like if he hadn’t peeked around the corner like a kid who doesn’t know how to stay hidden, or if he hadn’t tried to figure it out at all. His heart is racing in his chest but it’s not anticipation.

Danny should move, but he doesn’t. He steels himself against whatever is coming and doesn’t make a noise when he looks up. Matt’s new suit is black and sleek, dark against his pale skin and crisp where it closes. He looks different even though he’s the same, but the beard is gone. Danny can see every jagged edge to Matt’s face. He wants to  _ touch _ it.

Matt frowns when he’s there, tilts his chin again. He doesn’t grab Danny or drag him around. He waits until Danny stands up on his own. He’s a few steps behind as always, leading quietly like he does best.

‘Murdock,’ Danny hisses. ‘Don’t do this. We can still leave.’

‘Haven’t you left enough?’ the man in the glasses asks. He raises his chin.

It’s not a fine point. It’s misleading, and Danny can’t stop the snarl that curls his lip. Matt steps around him as if the thought of touching him is poisonous.

It’s all too familiar at once. Danny pulls off his own mask and stares at the man. He doesn’t look any different than he did the other day, still dressed like he doesn’t quite belong, and with a smile that says he got caught on purpose. Danny’s fist slowly clenches.

‘What did you do to him?’

‘Nothing,’ the man says, waving a hand. ‘He did it to himself.’

‘I don’t believe that for a minute,’ Danny says cruelly. Matt snorts like it was the wrong answer. ‘He’s not the kind of guy to take orders from someone like you.’

‘Do you believe in fate, Mr. Rand?’ the man asks.

‘I do,’ Danny says. ‘Of course I do.’

The man smiles politely. ‘Then you’ll know that he was always destined to be part of this.’

The Hand. The Chaste. Whatever it was that Stick tried to drag them all into without another word. Matt looks away and feigns disinterest, but there’s something sparking there. That’s all Danny needs to hold on and try harder. If there’s a chance, then he has to take it no matter what.

‘Matt, you know that’s not—’

‘Do you know who this is?’ the man interrupts.

He’s asking, but he doesn’t really care. Danny’s sure he’s already filled Matt’s head with what he wants him to know. Danny is the  _ enemy, _ but he’s stronger and faster than either of them will be. Matt takes a moment, hands nervously fluttering at his sides like he can’t tell without touch. He shakes his head. He’s oddly disoriented.

‘Matt,’ Danny says, strained. ‘It’s—’

‘You left me,’ Matt says faintly. He touches where the wound in his stomach had been, from rebar or something else. ‘I asked you, and you left me.’

But even then, Matt is shaking his head like he doesn’t know the real answer.

‘Why are you dressed like me?’ Matt asks softly, lip curling.

Danny doesn’t have to be able to see his face to know. There’s something righteous about an anger that burns still. It’s what drives them all when it comes down to it—and they’re the same, alike and kindred. There’s nothing else that could drive them as well, but it’s fading fast. Danny  _ has _ to try.

_ why are you dressed like me, _ and all the controlled, withering emotion that’s built up behind the words. Danny doesn’t question it. There are things Matt can do that he never explained, and this is one of them. The lost, childlike quality has all but escaped from the way he’s standing. Matt doesn’t look like he’s going to give up. It looks like he’s getting ready to pick a fight.

Danny doesn’t want to fight him. He doesn’t want to go down that road and get lost. He doesn’t  _ want _ to rely on his fists instead of his words. He has no doubt in his mind that he’d be able to get Matt to trust him again if they just talked.

And he feels weird about it. He’s headstrong and brash—but for once, he can’t be that way. Danny bites his tongue because he doesn’t know what will happen if he doesn’t. It’s between the man in the glasses and Matt now.

‘You asked me to,’ Danny whispers.

‘Don’t lie,’ Matt says. He raises his chin.

‘You did,’ Danny tells him. ‘You did. You said to protect your city. You said to help—’

Matt is a quick strike. Danny remembers his fists well against his skin. He blazes like a star and arches like he’s falling. Danny avoids all the punches he can and offers none of his own. That’s not why he’s here tonight. He’s made his peace as well as he can, and he doesn’t have any interest in beating Matt into submission. He catches Matt’s wrist and twists around him, pinning him just like that.

The shoulder he grabs onto trembles beneath his touch. There’s coiled anger in those tough muscles. Danny can feel it all the way down where it’s backed up in Matt’s bones. He squeezes just to prove his point. Matt stays put.

The man in the glasses appraises them. He looks pristine and posh where he stands. His hair is neatly coiffed, and his dress shoes are the most expensive pair Danny has ever seen. He hates him,  _ oh God. _

‘I’ve given you all the tools you need,’ the man says—to Matt. He shivers.

‘What is he talking about?’ Danny demands.

He’s not in any place to be asking that. Matt  _ growls, _ and it’s just not human. It’s just not  _ right. _

‘Kill him,’ the man says evenly.

‘No,’ Danny says,  _ ‘don’t.’ _

It just doesn’t work like that. Danny’s never heard anyone snarl the way Matt does. It catches him off guard, and worse, when one of Matt’s boots knocks into his knees.

Matt hurts him, and he doesn’t apologize. He manifests like a beast of the night, and he says nothing about it. Danny catches him and tries to find something familiar in that glimmering shine. All he finds is pleading darkness. A kid who’s a little too afraid for it to matter.

It’s fine. Danny ends up hurting Matt to. He has to, or it’s never going to end the right way. He punches Matt in the ribs and hears the wheeze.

The creep in the glasses watches. It’s probably what he’s been waiting for this entire time, delighted, finally having found someone to test this  _ weapon _ he’s created on. It’s a familiar narrative. Only, Danny can’t figure out if it reminds him of Colleen or if it reminds him of himself.

Matt knocks him on his ass while he’s distracted. Danny forgets to be careful at a time like this and sweeps Matt’s already unsteady legs out for under him. That’s the power of the fight making him grin, so wide, a half-moon (—but the monster he’s borrowing slinks away.)

At some point they get back on their feet. Danny charges him and catches Matt right in the chest. He doesn’t side-step anymore to avoid hits, but counters them. He takes everything Matt’s giving him and turns it around. If Matt catches him in the face, Danny makes sure to give it back to him twice as hard. He must look a mess too. His lip is split, and he can feel the blood trickling down his chin. Matt mirrors him with a twisted expression.

Matt misses a hit and Danny backhands him hard enough across the face that he stumbles a few steps. Matt misses a spin kick, throws dirt in his eyes and then misses a tornado kick, and Danny knocks his legs out from under him and Matt  _ finally _ groans upon hitting the ground. The sound of his helmet digging into the rubble isn’t cathartic. Not yet.

That’s the mourning edge that Danny has been missing. It’s been festering in his chest for long enough. It makes his hands shake as he stands over Matt, or what should be Matt. His heart just isn’t in it. Danny’s knuckles are aching from the effort.

‘Get up,’ Danny snarls. ‘Get up, Matt.’ Matt spits blood at him. ‘We’re fucking going  _ home.’ _

‘He’s not going with you,’ the man in the glasses said. When Danny looks over at him, he’s picking imaginary dust off the lapels of his jacket. ‘He’s mine. It’s simple, really.’

‘Fuck  _ you,’ _ Danny says, rounding on him. His fist is burning of its own accord, a thousand degrees, and it surges. He pulls it back, hoping to shatter those fucking  _ round _ frames—

He would have, too. His Chi flickers for just a moment at the sudden pain in his side. Danny glances down and stares at the blade digging in, ripping through the fabric of his suit. He watches it shake. He watches Matt carefully pull it out of his skin.

‘Why?’ he asks roughly, breathlessly, eyes wide.

Matt holds the familiar blade that never belonged to him. He’s still wheezing from the pressure of the wind or the bruising, or whatever it is that’s holding him back as much. He shakes his head, trying to push off whatever it is that’s taking over him. Danny’s positive he’s losing it.

When Danny attacks Matt, he’s not even sure it’s  _ him _ making those calls. He’s never been so angry before, or uncontrolled. He’s never been as furious, or aggressive, but he kicks Matt in the head hard enough to knock his helmet off and yells when it tears his side open further. It’s not terribly deep, but it hurt—and Danny can’t even be sure if it hurts just because of where it is, or if it’s because someone he trusted and looked up to so fucking  _ much _ gave it to him.

He shouts at Matt while he hits him, a scramble of  _ why, why, why _ punctuated by the way they trade blows. Danny’s careful to avoid getting stabbed again. He gets cut on his forearm when he blocks a little too often. The blade is sharp enough to tear through the kevlar and tries to meet it’s mark. Danny’s not really afraid until one of Matt’s spin-kicks land and knocks him on his ass.

Matt looks like he’s becoming the fucking  _ devil _ when he raises the sai above his head.

His eyes are pretty wild for someone who can’t see. They never stay on any part of Danny for too long, at his mouth and his chest, or flickering off behind Danny like he’s looking for permission to gore him. Danny isn’t really keen on the idea, and maybe that’s why he does it. He’s a little terrified, and still so angry. Maybe he can’t help it.

He rises on his toes a little for the angle, but Danny’s fist catches on fire when he surges up. He’s never gotten used to the resounding  _ boom _ that comes with it or how the world turns a little hazy. Danny sags for a little bit before he can recover. Dizzy, and mindless. It takes energy to do something so quick, especially when he’s already tried. By the time he’s managed to stand up and recollect himself, the man in the glasses is gone and Matt is lying halfway across the building in the rubble. He’s making weak little noises that sound like sobs. It’s what he  _ gets. _

‘Oh,’ Danny says. ‘Fuck.’

He pulls off his gloves and tosses them while he rushes forward.

He shouldn’t care, but something shatters in his chest when Matt tries to scramble up the rocks to get away from him. Danny wasn’t the one trying to stab people.

‘Stop, Matt,’ he says tiredly. ‘I’m not—I’m not going to hurt you.’  _ This time. _

Danny rubs his eyes with his hands. The ringing in his ears has stopped from all the punches, and he leans into the rubble to pull Matt against his chest.

The blood seeping out from under Matt’s nose and mouth is black and tacky, running thick rivulets against his pale skin. He’s gurgling something helplessly under his breath. He weakly shoves at Danny’s chest without much luck.

‘I need you to calm down,’ Danny says exasperatedly.

He figures out why it’s so hard to see. His left eye is swelling shut. Danny is positive he won’t be able to carry Matt all the way back to Luke’s place like this.

Not just because his eye is messed up, but because he’s still exhausted from the last time Matt decided to use him like a personal punching bag. All those nights Danny spent chasing petty criminals around the block of Hell’s Kitchen had done nothing to prepare him for the actual Devil himself.

He tries to lift Matt anyway over his shoulder. He’s taller than Matt and has better leverage, but all his muscles scream at him when he takes a step forward. It’s not really helpful that Matt is banging against his back constantly. It loosens up the dust that had built up in his lungs after their fight. Danny’s too tired to even pretend to want to walk as far as Luke’s place.

‘Don’t worry,’ he says to Matt. ‘I’ll grab your mask and put it back on you.’

Everyone calls Danny an idiot. He can’t believe it took him this long to agree with the statement. He bends over to grab their discarded things and blinks dumbly when Matt rolls off his shoulder.

He feels like he’s juggling six million things all at once. He drops the mask. Matt is  _ choking _ —sharp, wet noises in his throat as he works whatever it is in his lungs to come out. His eyelashes are fluttering, and he’s sweating and unfocused, looking more gaunt now than he had before. His fingers are scrambling uselessly for something to hold onto.

_ now you’ve really done it, _ Danny thinks. He’s dizzy from the blood loss, and it doesn’t help his case. He drops down to his knees next to Matt and panics. It’s why he didn’t really use his Fist before. When his brain was still  _ working. _ He lets out a nervous laugh and coughs up a sob.

‘No,’ he breathes. ‘No, no, no. Fuck, I’m sorry—Goddamn, Matt, I’m sorry.’ He tries to check Matt’s pulse and shivers. ‘I fucked up, I fucked up.’

He just wanted to save him.

He  _ killed _ him.

Danny really isn’t an idiot. He’s been around Claire long enough to know what some things look like, and he’s been patched up by her more times to count. He’s also seen what the other guys ended up looking like the moment someone let their tempers go.

Matt’s weak and  _ human. _ The only thing he’s got going for him are his amazing parkour skills and his incredible ability to smell heartbeats or whatever it was. Luke can survive getting hit by all the summoned Chi in the world because he has strength, and Danny doesn’t doubt Jessica would be able to take a punch either. But Matt—is  _ delicate, _ and  _ human. _

_ ‘Matt.’ _

There’s a lack of cooperation, a burning ending feud. Danny drags the upper half of Matt’s body onto his thighs and clings to his chin, tilting his chin up. It doesn’t loosen up whatever is building up there. Death doesn’t seem to hesitate for anyone—and grows the longer they take to deal with it, inevitable.

The sound of Danny’s concussion rings in his ears. His nose might even be broken, because he can’t focus on summoning  _ anything _ beyond the bitter ringing in his head. He shakes his head and becomes sick with it. It’s hard to hear anything over the weak gasps Matt is giving him. Danny doesn’t know what to do about it. He doesn’t know what to do, and it ignites something horrible in his chest that makes his hands shake.

‘Fuck,’ he says again. ‘I don’t know—I don’t know.’

He pushes Matt off his legs and bends down, hands shaking as he unclasps all the ties that keep the kevlar in place. He shoves it away from Matt’s chest and leans forward until his ear rests on the thin, sleek undershirt that’s damp with sweat, maybe blood.

It’s a damp sound. Weak, embarrassing, because Danny has never wanted to do something like this. He’s not Claire. He doesn’t have any reassuring words either. Matt probably wouldn’t even listen.

Matt’s choking, and suffering, and Danny is going to have that on his hands. He always knew he was a little greedy and ferocious, that something was horribly broken in his chest that made him lash out and act out in ways he didn’t understand. It almost happened before, but he thought he’d gotten better. He thought he had learned his  _ lesson. _

It’s part of an influence he didn’t realize he had. Stepping too far, and across a line that isn’t his. It’s what he gets for wearing someone else’s face and stealing a mantle that isn’t is. This is what he gets. This is what he  _ deserves, _ so now that when the man in the glasses accuses the rest of the Defenders about being murderers, he’ll be right about it. And that’s on Danny.

He tries to summon his Chi. It’s futile, because he’s so exhausted he can barely keep his eyes open. He’s been knocked dumb. The sky is starting to rumble too.

‘I’m trying,’ he tells Matt, who spits up blood and squeezes his eyes shut. ‘Please, Matt.’

Bitterly, Danny imagines Colleen in his place. She would be able to do it without breaking a sweat. She’s stronger than he is like that, able to keep her emotions in check as long as she’s determined to, and there’s no one like Bakuto around to distract her.

She was trained for this, but Danny was too. That’s what makes it so humiliating he can’t even summon Chi to heal but he has no problem doing it to knock Matt’s ribs back into his lungs unapologetically.

‘I can’t do it,’ Danny confesses. ‘I can’t, I’m sorry. I’m sorry, he was right.’

Matt snorts, and Danny ignores the splotches of blood that shakes away from the force.

Danny closes his eyes and  _ weeps. _ It catches him off-guard when Matt touches his cheek and pulls him, presses their foreheads together.

Danny’s hand catches fire.

He doesn’t remember much else afterwards.   
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
‘Y’waking up now?’ asks a low, warm voice.

Danny’s body actively protests any movement. His head pounds when he tries to sit up, and worsens when he opens his eyes. Luke is sitting beside him, sort of like before, looking patient but tired. He’s got blood around his collar in funny little patterns. 

‘How’d you find me?’ Danny asks.

Even speaking hurts, but he knows it would be worse if he didn’t try. He sounds like there’s dirt still stuck in his throat somewhere.

‘Matt dragged you here,’ Luke says evenly. ‘You both looked like shit.’

‘Is he still here?’ Danny throws his legs over the side of the bed. ‘Luke—Is he alive? I don’t get it.’

‘I don’t get it either,’ he says. Luke stands up from the creaky little chair. The mimicked Daredevil suit hits Danny right in the chest. ‘Care to explain?’

_ it’s not what it looks like,  _ comes to mind. He was doing a favor for a friend. He was doing what he was asked by someone who wouldn’t have if there hadn’t been dire circumstances. Danny swallows back any of the excuses that are coming to mind. He peels the suit back and stares at the hole in the side. When he sits up taller, he can feel the stitches pull. Luke doesn’t seem to be the type.

He’s not crumbling empires. There’s nothing to take down in the wake of the fallen moon. There are always armed robberies and muggings, and the occasional stranger that lingers a little too close for comfort. But Danny has been  _ safe _ and  _ secure, _ and there’s no reason to worry.

Whatever energy he had to fight, it’s been cut out for right now. Torn straight from his chest at the realization he could’ve messed everything up earlier even with the inspiration that made it easy. Danny isn’t cut out for that type of violent night life.

But he’s not cut out to sit around and just gather his thoughts either. Part of being the Iron Fist is being a sworn protector of everyone who needs it, and they need it here more than anything else. Danny isn’t just protecting the people Matt had asked him to. He was going out of his way to protect Claire and Colleen, and to try to make things up to Jessica as well. They were his friends, and he’d wanted to.

It doesn’t feel fair to be sitting on the other end of a disapproving gaze. If only Luke knew about the fire burning in Danny’s gut, then he wouldn’t be saying anything.

It’s a familiar curse for someone who just wants to do well. Danny would catch all the stars out of the sky if the fell if it would make his friends happy. He’d let them burn his skin as he showed everyone what he’s done.

Luke has never asked for that kind of dedication. He’s never reached out or explained any of the things he was doing either. He’s a different kind of protector in his own right. He sticks to his streets and makes sure the kids he knew growing up aren’t doing anything that puts them in danger. And Danny doesn’t  _ ask _ him about it, so why should Luke ask him about this?

Danny clenches the suit up in his fingers, listens to the fabric protest the movement. There’s a tear in the side from where Matt had stabbed him, and that’s about all of the damage he’s really taken. His face is just as creaky when he frowns, and his split lip stings when he licks his lips.

‘Don’t,’ Luke begins, with a sigh. ‘Don’t even  _ try _ looking like a kicked puppy.’

He’s not expecting it—not expecting the soft way Luke touches his face, or the hesitant look that crosses over his gaze. Danny tilts his chin up expectantly, and Luke gives in just this one time. Their kiss is just as soft and timid as before, but at least they’re  _ kissing _ instead of fighting and dragging it all out here and now.

‘I should have told you,’ Danny mumbles guiltily.

‘Yeah, you should have,’ Luke agrees. He touches Danny’s cheek and relaxes when Danny leans into the touch. ‘But it doesn’t really matter now. You’re okay.’

‘And Matt?’ Danny asks. He swallows hard in case. ‘Is he okay too?’

‘He’s okay,’ Luke says. ‘Carried you back. Stitched you up for me. He’s out like a light on the couch.’

Relief floods Danny, sending stars into his head and making him dizzy for a moment. He clings to Luke’s arms and laughs shakily, shaking his head.

‘I almost killed him,’ Danny confesses. ‘I hit him with my Chi. He was  _ dying.’ _

‘But he’s not,’ Luke assures him. He strokes Danny’s hair a little awkwardly, like he’s not exactly done something like it before. ‘You didn’t kill him. You brought him back.’

And there’s the passing thought of  _ maybe we should talk about this _ that eventually dissolves into another new, just as intense feeling. Luke’s squeezing his uninjured side, slow and unhurried. Danny kisses him because he doesn’t have anything else to say. He hums into the touch and shyly touches Luke’s face. His hands shake.

They’ll talk about it some other time. Right now, Danny wants  _ this. _

It’s always encompassing, the gifted weight of whatever attention is lingering. For once it’s warranted, and he doesn’t complain about how tight it makes his chest feel. Luke is unapologetically gentle with him despite his strength. He pets Danny and lays him back against the mattress before pressing against his side, near cooing.

When he looks at Danny, it’s a strong sight of interest and wonder that doesn’t border on anything else. There are no rallying cries. Luke doesn’t ask him to run. He doesn’t ask to build an army, or to become something holy and right. He kisses Danny but doesn’t push for it.

‘Watch out for my stitches,’ Danny mumbles.

‘We’re not gettin’ that rowdy, honey,’ Luke says—and chuckles at the thought.

They do not break, with words sweetened like dew and honey. Thoughtless little touches here and there that are neither grounding nor avoidant. Danny shivers at the marvel of it all. He tastes stars. Luke presses in without hiding that strength that he has. Whatever bruises he gives are grounding. His mouth is firm but promising. He makes a surprised noise when Danny bites at his mouth.

They are not fragile, opposite pieces of a puzzle. In another world, they could be seen as clandestine, but Danny things they’ve belonged together right from the start—believes it  _ more _ when Luke’s hand goes wandering around his chest and waist, slipping curiously below his waistband. It’s ceremonious in an ironic sense. They give away and take back until it’s even, until Danny’s thighs are trembling and the front of his boxers are damp, and Luke’s hand is there and promising not to leave.

‘Are we doing this?’ Luke asks.

He presses his thumb against Danny’s skin, draws out a rattled moan.

‘Yes,’ Danny mumbles. ‘Please.’

Luke smiles against his cheek. ‘I’ll take care of everything for now.’

Perhaps it would be disjointed if it were anyone else, but Danny should get a prize. He  _ thinks _ just as well with Luke’s mouth against his neck. _ Thinks _ as well when Luke’s hand pressing against his dick, playing with the slick at the tip in anxious movements that are distracting.

‘I’ll pay you back,’ Danny says, too seriously, and Luke laughs.

Patience is something Danny is good or bad at. He’s works with casual frustration to unbutton the front of Luke’s jeans, pawing at them uselessly until Luke helps slink them off.

And briefly, Danny has a moment to think if it’s going to be like he always imagined. Never so focused with the velvet touch of a cock against his rough palm, but as intense as if he were alone. He doesn’t have the precision that Luke does, can’t quite perfect the curve of his wrist with assured strokes, gathered precum to help the slide not be as jarring.

Luke’s murmuring encouragements they won’t remember in a few minutes. Danny’s lightheaded, but it’s not the same as getting in a fight. He’s biting his lip, split be damned, and fighting against the weak tremors in his hands.

He’s excited and messy, hips rutting against Luke’s hand without much thought, softly though with the pull of his stitches bringing him back to reality. He whines even though he’ll never admit it, and nearly purrs at the soft kisses Luke is pressing against his hair and skin.

It’s not like Danny imagined. It’s better. It’s  _ more, _ and he can’t help but look as he skates his fingertips against a vein and Luke’s body shivers at the sensation. He’s wet too, and dripping, with small little gasps that say it’s been awhile.

Danny turns his chin a bit further and noses along Luke’s jaw line until he tips his chin back. He presses hot kisses there and licks across Luke’s pulse point, feels his heart skip a beat at the insistent touch. He bites down and likes the reaction.

If his stitches pull, it’s besides the point. He wants this, and it’s all he can think about. The touch and proof of existence, and the way Luke’s dick twitches against his palm.

He’s not sure who bites a warning out first. It doesn’t take long for Luke to fall apart in his hands, humming out a low sound until he’s crushing his mouth against Danny’s to stay quiet. His cum is hot against Danny’s skin, and slicker than he’d imagined. It’s not that long until Danny follows with a low moan, eyes squeezed shut.

They don’t really move after that. They sit together awkwardly and wipe their hands on the sheets.   
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Matt’s nose is upturned when the shuffle out of the bedroom a couple of hours later. He purses his lips and wrinkles his nose, but if he smells anything, he doesn’t say it. Danny is grateful.

He’s sitting like he’s spent the better half of the night meditating after waking up from a particularly restless bout of sleep. His hair is mussed and his blanket has been carelessly thrown off the couch. Matt’s not in uniform either. He’s sitting there in a plain pair of boxers that he flashes when he shifts to unfold his legs, and a shirt that skates past his thighs when he gets comfortable.

Luke crosses his arms. Matt stares at his chin defiantly, rubs his hands against his thighs anxiously. The room is still enough, but they’ve gone motionless like statues. Danny coughs awkwardly and finds that it hurts.

‘So, uh, am I supposed to say—’ he starts.

‘I returned the favor,’ Matt interrupts, ‘but I can’t stay. You’re both at risk. It isn’t worth it to me.’

The world is supposed to shake open. The apocalypse seems to be hanging right around the corner, but Luke doesn’t move to stop Matt when he stands up. He wobbles over to where his suit’s been thrown and picks it up. His knuckles turn white from the effort.

‘I didn’t finish healing you,’ Danny says weakly.

‘You shouldn’t have healed me at all,’ Matt cuts in. ‘That was your mistake. I don’t—I don’t really know  _ who _ you are, but you made a mistake. Are making a mistake.’

‘You’re not really in any shape to be going anywhere,’ Luke says. He’s right; Matt’s bruises are peeking out everywhere. Danny only managed to make the internal bleeding stop, and that’s barely. ‘What’s it going to hurt if you stay?’

Matt’s lips quirk interestingly at the sound of Luke’s voice. He doesn’t lighten up, doesn’t loosen his grip or drop his guard, but he inclines his head at the direction and really listens. Danny rubs his hand against his chest. He’s not sure what he can say to make any of it better, but they’re all moving in opposite directions.

Danny’s never really seen what absolute guilt looks like up close before. It’s twisting and spiraling, with a tinge of red around the edges. Matt looks ready to blow away in the wind, or at least determined to disappear.

‘It doesn’t matter,’ Matt says finally. ‘I’ve been hurt since—It doesn’t matter.’ He shakes his suit in frustration. ‘You’ll get hurt if I stay.  _ I’ll _ hurt you, or he’ll come. Either way.’

He shakes his head again. He does it a lot, like he’s trying to be free of something buzzing in his ears. He moves around like he’s not really believing the words coming out of his mouth either. One moment he’s shrugging Luke’s shirt off and the next, he’s pulling it back on.

‘You’re not a killer, Matt,’ Luke says calmly.

He says it with a smooth edge, but Matt’s lips curl into a mocking snarl regardless. ‘You don’t know anything anymore.’

But Danny  _ does. _ ‘You’re not,’ he agrees. ‘You would’ve finished me off, but you didn’t. You could’ve.’

He didn’t, and that seems to do something. Matt makes a noise in the back of his throat and tosses his suit uselessly onto the floor. He paces like Danny has never seen him do before, half-naked and uncaring, but still tilting toward something no one else could possibly understand. It’s not like he’d stand a chance. Luke’s built to indefinitely last, and Danny could do better with help. He’s never been great at the one-on-one part of anything. It never seems to swing in his favor.

It takes a minute, but Matt snorts and fumbles weakly for the couch. He draws in on himself but doesn’t say a word when they approach. His nose flares a little with disgust. Danny tries not to get too close, but he wants a better look at everything, always.

‘I don’t remember anything,’ Matt admits, softly, honestly.

‘I swear that we didn’t abandon you, Matt,’ Luke says. He reaches to touch Matt’s shoulder but thinks better of it. ‘We wouldn’t have. We were friends.’

‘It never made sense to me,’ he says. He snorts. ‘I could  _ hear _ that you were telling the truth, but Gabriel kept—’ He stops himself with a bitter laugh.

‘Gabriel?’ Danny repeats, echoes. The name is familiar. But it couldn’t be real?

Matt closes his eyes at the name. ‘The Archangel, literally,’ he says. He sounds almost reverent. ‘He pulled us—I don’t really remember. I remember him saying he needed us. That if we listened to him, we’d live again. It was like a long dream, and then I woke up.’

‘What the fuck?’ It punches out of Danny’s mouth before he can think about it. ‘Really?’

‘Yes, really,’ Matt says, mildly irritated. ‘He’s got a shofar horn and everything.’

Danny giggles a little nervously. Luke just rests his head in his hands like he’s given up. Fuck  _ dragons, _ but angels? It’ll make a story for the ages with little martyrs strewn around. Claire wasn’t so wrong after all. It’s hard to make up what their lives have become. This really takes the cake somehow.

It’s a different kind of miracle, not as svelte to touch or see. There’s bright lights and floating images. Matt sits differently and speaks low to the ground, absentmindedly tracing the stars on the palms of his hands—the stigmata, and it’s slowly beginning to make sense. He’s so enveloped in that holy light now. It curls around his body. Danny’s not sure how he missed it.

‘You got resurrected by a fucking angel,’ Luke says, not a question.

It’s weird to see Matt sitting there without direction. He sucks on his teeth and all but rolls his eyes, but Danny imagines him before an altar, praying, and down on his knees.

‘I don’t remember,’ Matt repeats warningly.

‘Whatever it takes,’ Luke murmurs, promises. ‘We’ll help you remember.’

His hands push together uselessly, fingers threading. He is frozen, doll-like. Seeking answers where they do not belong.

‘We take down Gabriel,’ Danny says, ‘and you’ll become our friend again, won’t you?’

‘You can’t,’ Matt says. ‘I already told you. I don’t know, but you  _ can’t.’ _

There’s a swell of frustration. It taps on Danny’s ribs until he’s adjusting the way he’s standing so there’s no as much pressure. It doesn’t apologize for the way it makes him see red. He feels a bit of shame putting Matt in a position like this.

He’s not the only one feeling something particular. Luke swipes a hand down his own face and rubs his eyes. It’s later than they expected. Cracking Matt’s distant exterior is harder than they anticipated, but even then, Danny’s not really sure what he expected. No one has ever been able to dig this deep without a bit of trouble. He’s only getting tired.

_ but you can’t, _ even though Danny has the might of god’s own determination in his blood. Luke can hold the world in his arms if he wanted, be a true protective figure without having to worry about anything at all. 

Matt is offering them a threat they can’t ignore. He knows that. If he just  _ speaks, _ they could work out a plan. Fight Gabriel, end it then and there and he’d be free. Danny is fueled by something beautiful to make this happen. He doesn’t believe that Matt has ever known what it’s like to be free, so coiled around a goal he doesn’t realize he has. It’s not fair. It never will be.

‘We have to try,’ Danny says. It’s harsher than he intends.

‘You  _ can’t,’ _ Matt says. He clenches his fists again and then smooths his fingers out against his thigh. ‘There’s more of us than just me. If you kill him—If you do anything, we’ll go away.’

Tied to someone who no one else knows, and following the orders that no one else hears. The words tear something to shreds just by being uttered. Matt bites his bottom lip hard enough it draws blood, and Danny leans against Luke for support. He wonders what angel ichor looks like, and if it has a certain taste. He wonders if Matt is really that opposed to destroying someone hurting him.

‘I won’t let you kill him,’ Matt says with finality. ‘I won’t, I can’t.’ He swallows so hard it has to hurt. ‘If you put the other witnesses in danger, I’ll never forgive you.’

‘Nothing is ever simple with you, is it?’ Luke asks. He sighs heavily.

‘We were given another chance,’ Matt says fiercely. He sets his chin, shakes his head a little. ‘For whatever reason. You will  _ not _ take this away from them. I won’t be the reason they lose this.’

And that’s more like the Matt everyone remembers. Without the jargon, but as passionate as anything else. He’s burning up with a righteous kind of fire that sets his skin aglow and makes him seem younger. He stares blandly at Danny’s chin, eyebrows screwed up with anticipation.

It should matter. It  _ does, _ with a burning, unyielding flicker that seems to come aflame from the side Matt’s heart is supposed to be on. Danny can tell from the way he’s sitting he knows they don’t really believe him, but they’re willing to try.

Danny’s body aches whenever he moves, and his side still stings. It’s not like before—not like he’d imagined it would be like when he decided to dedicate his time to saving lives and people, but it’s the same regardless. He  _ is _ saving someone, more than that, and he has to do whatever it takes. He promised. He can’t break that.

Matt’s face really does screw up then, eyebrows dragging together. He places his hands over his ears like he’s listening to something loud and far off.

‘The horn,’ Luke says suddenly, right as Matt blurts out, ‘I have to go.’

Luke catches his wrist as he moves. He holds Matt in place without really trying, squeezing lightly, but enough to make Matt hiss.

‘I’ll come back,’ Matt says, shaking him. ‘But I have to—I promise.’

It’s not really a look of understanding, but there’s rigid tension that slides between them. Luke lets him go, sweeps his fingers across Matt’s hand when he walks away, grabbing his suit as he does so. It’s a curious flash of light that overwhelms him—and then he’s  _ gone. _

‘The horn,’ Danny says dumbly. Luke just looks at him.   
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
The first thing Jessica says when Danny finishes telling her everything is ‘You’ve gotta be shitting me.’ She says it like she hadn’t expected the madness for the longest time. She waits long enough with a delicate pause before telling them to stay put, she’s coming over, she  _ has _ to, and then they’re going to have a long conversation about how shitty their jobs are.

And Danny’s pretty glad it’s going to take her a while to get there. He manages to take a sponge bath, hands shaking as he wipes away the grime, and meditates while Luke showers. There’s some dramatic thinking, panic-inducing thoughts—but the worst part of it is, it gives time for Danny to just not do anything. He lounges around in sweats and a tee shirt and orders food from down the street that someone else is going to have to grab while he sits it out.

If it were before, maybe it would have surprised him. Any other day, and Danny would have felt a keen amount of pressure about resurrection and how people seem to keep sprouting up like certain kinds of weeds. He’s bleary by the time Luke gets out of the shower. Luke walks past him to turn on the TV. He’s probably looking for a sign or something.

Even Jessica’s knocks sound annoyed.

She doesn’t  _ look _ much better when Luke lets her in. She’s dressed like she usually is, wearing the same tired frown and scarf, but she’s not any worse for wear. Her impromptu vacation seems to have done her well when she works her way into the center of the room, peering around like something is going to jump out and scare her at anytime. Once she’s decided it’s safe enough, she flops down on the couch where Matt had been earlier and kicks her legs up. She fishes out her flask and takes a good long drink. She sighs.  _ That’s _ when she seems ready to talk.

‘So,’ she says. ‘Let me get this straight. There’s angels now?’

Danny licks his lips. ‘Uh, yeah. One picked up Matt, and apparently there are others.’

‘That’s like, super sacrilegious,’ Jessica says with faux serenity.

‘Who knows?’ Danny jokes shakily. ‘Maybe punching one will give you superpowers.’

She gives an ugly snort at that. She goes so far as to kick her feet a little bit before sitting forwards, sighing heavily on instinct this time. She itches her knee absently.

‘What the hell are we supposed to do about  _ angels?’ _ Jessica asks.

‘Matt gave us very specific directions,’ Luke tells her from the kitchen. ‘No killing.’

It’s reminiscent of how he always used to remind them. Danny doesn’t blame Jessica for cracking up at it. She kicks her feet a little bit again before throwing her weight back against the back of the couch. She crinkles her nose.

‘Yeah, yeah, kill the angel, you kill the martyrs or whatever,’ Jessica says, waving her hand. ‘My life’s been bullshit since it started. Trish has been trying to interview a dead guy for a week now.’

She bites her lip carefully.

‘What does Matt look like now?’ she asks faintly. ‘Is he still the same Matt or—’

She drops a pretty heavy gaze down Danny’s body to take in everything. Her mouth twists a bit in disgust, but she doesn’t say anything about it. She doesn’t have to. It’s written all over her face. She’s intuitive without trying.

Danny doesn’t really want to tell her that Matt’s fallen from the sky with a pretty intense urge to destroy whatever Defenders he comes across per wish of a small, glasses-wearing man. That’s number one on a list of things that will make Jessica Jones angrier than she already is and prone to flee before they’ve really gotten the conversation rolling. Underneath her cool persona is someone who used to be glad she had someone to talk to, but knowing her now, she’ll not be as likely to open up as before.

‘He’s the same Matt,’ Danny tells her, gentle.

‘Well,’ she says evenly, ‘I’m still going to shove that  _ goddamn _ horn up that angel’s  _ goddamn—’ _ She cuts herself off with a frustrated noise and fishes for her flask.

Jessica Jones is not just angry. She’s humming with unrestrained energy that makes her jerk in her movements more than she usually does. She almost crushes her flask in her hand, and it isn’t until Luke is sitting beside her with a soothing hand on her arm that she stops holding on to it so tight. She isn’t the type to cry, but she’s close.

Jessica and Matt were the closest, if there was such a thing. Danny wasn’t there to see a lot of it, but they’d spent a lot of time together like he and Luke had. She faked her way through pretending his death didn’t have much of an impact, and it’s showing.

‘I’m gonna kick his ass,’ she says fiercely.

‘I think if we destroy the horn,’ Danny says, ‘then the angel can’t control Matt anymore.’

He tries to keep his voice steady for Jessica’s sake. Her lip curls at the mention of being controlled, but she doesn’t say anything.

_ but he’s dangerous now, _ he wants to say. Uses knives and blades and fights harder, inspired by the heavy punches Elektra had thrown at them even if Matt can’t remember it. It isn’t him, but it is. There’s no making excuses for him the way Danny wants to.

‘Are you sure I can’t kill the angel?’ Jessica asks tightly.

‘Some other time,’ Luke says. ‘Let’s just get his horn first.’

She leans her head back in frustration. ‘I’m coming to help. I don’t care. I know what I said earlier, but—’

It’s different now, her eyes are saying. She’s struck true with some unfamiliar thought with tattered significance, rubbing her hands against her jeans while wearing a jacket she’s been wearing for a year now. Jessica’s  _ like _ that more often than not, and it’s soothing and brilliant all at once. Danny thinks he might hug her. He’s trembling worse than a leaf.

There’s something broken in his chest. It’s going to be replaced with a makeshift light at the end of the week, but that doesn’t stop it from hurting. Danny uses the ache as potential drive, thoughtlessly drifting wherever it matters the most. It’s what he was made for. It’s what his mantle means. He’ll return everyone back to Eden someday.

Jessica doesn’t say anything. What she’s thinking is louder. She just gives him a look that’s grounding. He seeks it out. Flickers, but lands safely. They’re going to be just fine after all.   
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
‘He’s still fucking ugly,’ Jessica says without fanfare. She sniffs.

The man in the glasses— _ Gabriel _ —doesn’t say anything in response. He just adjusts his glasses from where they’re falling down his long nose.

It’s not weird seeing Matt standing across from them. He’s always been a guard dog in some ways. So stiff, and alert. Danny doesn’t like the distance and how it feels thrumming between them. He takes a step forward and instantly regrets it. They talked about it a few nights ago over take-out, about how they’d have to be careful if they wanted it to work.

‘So,’ Gabriel drawls. ‘What exactly are you expecting to happen?’

It isn’t a big, ultimate showdown. That’s okay. Danny likes it better when it feels like it’s just two normal people standing face-to-face. Less magic, more soul. From what he can tell, Luke likes it like that too. He’s rolling his shoulders and popping his neck. He’s a man on a mission, determined, all those sharp, ragged edges Danny’s been falling in love with lately.

The sad part about it is that Danny isn’t really expecting anything. He could cross his heart and hope to God that the plan works. That the horn faltering with make it stop, but keep the witnesses intact. That he can save Matt just like Matt did for them all those months ago underneath that building chasing a ghost. He’s going to repay Matt with everything he has, and everything he’s learned.

‘You don’t think we can do it,’ Danny says instead.

‘I think you’re biting off more than you can chew,’ Gabriel agrees.

He’s grinning like he owns the world. Like he’s not just a subordinate to some superior creature with a better guiding light. Their words aren’t having any affect on Matt. They’re thrumming in Danny’s bones and making him dizzy. He could summon a storm with his nerves alone.

But it’s not a typical fight. There’s not an army standing behind Gabriel. He doesn’t have a  _ real _ organization backing his every decision like Alexandra had the Hand.

That doesn’t mean that Danny isn’t scared shitless. He’s always running into things head first without thinking, cramming useless things in his pockets that he think might help without the guiding voice of Colleen reassuring him that he’s doing the right thing. And he’s not nervous she’s not there. Danny has Luke and Jessica with him, hands in their pockets, but ready to move forward. Danny has never needed an army—has never  _ wanted _ an army, and that’s why he and Gabriel are equals.

‘I’m going to prove you wrong,’ Danny promises him.

‘You’re going to have to try harder,’ Gabriel says.

Jessica’s the one who takes a step forward this time, and Matt matches her with cautious movement. He tilts his head, familiar, and it’s hard to see that he parts his lips in the dim light. They’re swathed in it, bathing in it. Belonging to it.

Perfect, stubborn opposites who deserve the world and everything it has to offer. Danny swallows the lump in his throat. He hopes that he’ll manage to be good enough for the same treatment some day, that he’ll be as pure and welcomed.

For now, this is all he can do and all he has to offer. He’s made of brittle bones and determination. He’s had everything stolen away from him before, and he won’t let it happen again—not like this, not like any other. Danny is a  _ champion _ now that his friends can be proud of. He’ll prove it. He’ll show them all what it means to become. He blinks until the world is less red and more blue and presses in until there’s nothing left in the space between his ribs.

Jessica sighs faintly. ‘This suit’s dumber than the first one.’

Matt grins. Then he attacks, pretty in black.

‘Don’t let him go!’ Danny shouts—avoiding Matt completely when he rushes forward. Luke runs with him, outshines him and wraps his arms around Gabriel so that he can’t get away. It’s easier than he thought it would be.

Different, but the same. Up close, Gabriel glitters with the radiance of the sun and  _ burns _ hotter than it. His skin is practically scalding when Danny touches him, fishing for secrets.

The easiest part of learning to let go is finally figuring out what it means to be forgive. It’s blistering, and complicated. A string of messy emotions held together by a foreign, invasive thought that builds and builds like mold. With the quiet, soft movement. Danny imagines what Heaven looks like right before he gets a chance to meet it. Gabriel’s eyes glow behind the absent frames of his specs.

‘You think this will hold me?’ Gabriel hisses, ophidian tongued.

‘My boyfriend is pretty unbreakable,’ Danny says without thinking.

Luke smiles faintly, wrapping his arms tighter around Gabriel. It’ll have to do. It  _ has _ to do, because Danny can’t imagine what’ll come to be if Gabriel manages to get his hands around his horn. It’s not strapped to him. All Danny’s words manage to do is make Gabriel’s eyes glow brighter until there’s something like holy fire burning there.

Lightning flashes. Danny blinks and they’re  _ there. _ Glorious extensions right from between Gabriel’s shoulder blades, and his body, twisting like a vice. The force of his change shoves them all back with a sudden gust of wind. Danny lands flat on his back, wheezing as he tries to sit up. It’s nothing like he could have imagined.

‘No fucking way,’ he whispers.

Gabriel looks way different than the Hallmark gift cards. He has  _ three _ rotating heads, all Lovecraftian contortions of what actual faces should look like. He’s taller than anything else, but hunched forward from the weight of his six wings—pretty, seraphim, the force of the wind creating a haunting song. His four arms reach to the heavens, and clutched in one is the horn promising rapture.

It’s catastrophic and damning, dragging things up from around them. Danny is almost positive he’s not supposed to be making eye contact with something so monstrous, but he can’t look away. It makes him wonder if it’s something Matt has dreamed about since childhood. Angels and horns, the beckoning of a man who has drifted between realms without composure.

Gabriel lifts the horn to one of his contorted mouths, opened as though screaming. He places it there until something pierces through the air. It’s the first time Danny’s heard it. It makes him clasp his hands over his ears. It goes beyond that into his chest.

The sky whirring above their head opens up until there’s a torrential downpour. Somehow, all it does is intensify the shrieking command.

Danny manages to open his eyes. He crawls his way over to Luke and helps him sit up against the ringing noise, pulling him up forcefully by the hoodie. He doesn’t have a fucking  _ clue _ how he’s supposed to get to the horn now with it hovering so high up above them, and he doesn’t think he could ask anyone else to try it either. His heart is up in his throat by this point. The rain is almost blinding.

‘What do we do now?’ Luke yells.

‘I wish I knew!’ Danny replies.

Luke touches his cheek, runs his thumb across it. ‘We have to come up with something!’

Lightning strikes right between them. A fire faintly sparks until they’re separated, and the thunder rolling through the clouds is  _ almost _ loud enough to counter the constant blaring of Gabriel’s horn. It’s being shoved between the buildings, so reminiscent of the haunting sound of an apocalyptic siren warning them all of the end.

‘Matt, honestly, fuck  _ off!’ _ Jessica shouts. She’s flat on her back, heaving.

Matt’s standing above her, the last sai he has shaking in his hands. He’s poised just like before, but he’s not moving. He’s still as a statue, probably still listening to whatever it is Gabriel is saying now.

‘You’re not a killer, okay?’ Jessica is saying. Her chin is raised, and she’s not afraid—but Danny can’t say the same with the way he’s close to throwing up. ‘Whatever this asshole is saying, it’s not worth it. You don’t have to listen. Quit being an idiot and come home, okay?’

He doesn’t respond right away. Danny can tell from how rigid his spine is that he’s fighting hard against whatever urge it is, and Danny’s jealous at the restraint he’s showing. It reminds him to be something more. It reminds him that he’s has to be  _ better _ than the threat.

Matt gives a heartbroken shout. It tugs beyond the noise, and then he’s whipping around and  _ throwing _ the blade with all he has in the air. It whips through with promise, a tender ring that goes against everything happening. Danny follows it. He swallows his pride. He stands up and  _ charges _ the angel in front of him, building up his Chi. It burns in his knuckles, and he draws back his fist and waits for the perfect moment.

The knife must hit the mark, because Gabriel is  _ howling _ in pain with all three of his heads. His hands grasp at nothing in the air and claw at the injury, six wings wrapping around his weak body. The horn slips through the feathers and falls. Danny hits it with all it has until it shatters into tiny pieces, scattering in the wind. Gabriel screams at that pain too.

Gabriel swipes a useless hand downwards. He wraps his wiry fingers around Danny’s body and jerks him into the air, shaking him as he drags him upwards. But it’s a weird feeling, an odd gesture. Danny doesn’t really go anywhere.

It’s like he should be moving, but he’s not. Gabriel has snatched his soul right out of his body. There’s something about how it lingers below. Danny peeks over Gabriel’s knuckles. He watches his body uselessly tumble to the ground. There’s shouting that’s hard to hear over the storm, but everyone is gathering around him where he lies still. Worrying. But it’s better than nothing.

_ You think you  _ mean _ something? _ Gabriel hisses.

He has a thousand voices all in varying tones. He’s speaking every language, and Danny has to struggle to pick out those he understands. Gabriel squeezes him harder in response.

You  _ have messed up everything! _ It was deafening before, but it’s nothing compared to what Danny has to endure now. He bangs his hands against Gabriel’s skin, but it doesn’t do anything.  _ An inconsequential pest! I was to reunite the world with our Father! _

‘Not everyone believes the same thing as you,’ Danny says, but his mouth doesn’t move.

_ You will never find happiness, _ Gabriel vows—but Danny has already found it. Shou-Lao burns in his absent skin, causing everything to catch fire.

Shou-Lao’s spirit rousing burns worse than whatever Gabriel has to offer. It starts in the ink of Danny’s tattoo and forces its way through his body, pushing out and overcoming everything. The ferocity of it makes the rain stutter and the clouds shout, worse than any Chi summoning could have. It eats at Gabriel’s skin until he’s screaming again and throwing Danny’s soul back towards the ground. It’s probably not as kind as it seems.

Danny crash lands with a gasp. He jerks upwards, instantly jamming his forehead into Luke’s jaw. No one is crying, but Jessica seems pretty damn close.

‘I’m immortal,’ he jokes weakly.

‘You said I was your boyfriend,’ Luke says wetly, and Danny laughs.

He’s not really expecting to be kissed in front of anyone. Luke’s fingers are almost bruising where he’s holding Danny up by the shoulders. It’s not the best kiss, but it’s happening.

‘Did you just fucking die?’ Jessica demands. ‘Stop smooching for a second—Did you just die?’

‘Uh,’ Danny says brilliantly. He’s not really sure how to explain it, but figures bringing up  _ dragons _ will definitely push her over the edge. ‘Kind of?’ he offers instead.

She rolls her eyes immediately and moves out of sight. Luke kisses him again, a little calmer, and then Jessica is dragging Matt towards them by the front of his vest. He protests weakly as she pulls the clasp of his helmet, makes a face when she grabs his chin and guides his sightless gaze to where they are.

Matt somehow looks soft despite it all. He looks a little better now that the threat of an angry archangel has gone on somewhere else. He bites at his lips nervously like he’s thinking about apologizing for things that he couldn’t have helped, and maybe it would make him feel better if he did, but Danny doesn’t really want to hear anything else about this night.

Jessica clears her throat expectantly. Luke laughs awkwardly, and Danny pretends to not notice the  _ look _ they share between themselves—knowing.

‘Do you remember now?’ Luke asks softly.

‘Some of it,’ Matt says reluctantly. ‘Uh, not after the building fell, or whatever, but before.’

He smiles, so faint.

‘Welcome back,’ Danny says, and he finds that he means it.   
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
The first time Danny sinks down onto Luke’s cock, it’s not without encouragement.

Luke is good at it, murmuring softly every chance he gets. It’s sweet how he runs his hands up and down Danny’s sides, smoothing over the lines of his ribs and muscles, distractedly moving to drag his nails lightly across Danny’s nipples before tracing across the tattoo. Danny moans at the sensation and tips his chin back.

He doesn’t admit that he feels like he’s going to split open from the pressure. He’s good from being lazily fingered open earlier, but Luke is just  _ big. _

‘You good, honey?’ Luke murmurs with a small laugh.

Danny barely remembers to open his eyes. He wiggles his hips until he’s comfortable, until Luke’s dick is curving inside of him, enough that he’s pressed right against Danny’s prostate. He hiccups without thinking, rubbing at his too-warm cheeks. His hair is sweaty and sticking to his face.

‘I’m good,’ Danny says. He leans forward and kisses Luke because he can, sighing at the sensation. ‘Oh, fuck.’ He has to brace himself, unprepared for how  _ full _ he feels like that.

He won’t admit it, but his thighs have been trembling since the first minute Luke suggested he ride him. Danny’s stomach is tight with anticipation, and he gives a tentative roll of his hips. He feels incredibly full, even more stretched with Luke’s cock warm and wet and in.

Luke whispers some more encouragement, some praises. Hums about how good Danny is taking it, and how beautiful he is. It’s soft, and perfect—the  _ best _ part about it since Luke’s voice has always done something else to Danny. Danny parts his thighs a little bit more and leans back, tipping his chin back with a weak moan. His hips jump uselessly when Luke touches him, against his thigh.

‘I’m gonna—now,’ Luke says. He’s huffing, hips shuffling, excited and jerky.

‘Mm,’ Danny hums. He bites his bottom lip. ‘Please?’ He’s on fire again, but different.

Danny is incredibly glad that Luke is a patient lover. His first few thrusts are tentative and nervous, like he’s afraid of hurting Danny, which is  _ romantic _ as hell and a tiny bit implausible since they’re both incredibly strong. Danny clenches around him on purpose and laughs at the breathless moan.

It really does define them. Luke grins at the challenge and adjusts his hands on Danny’s hips, bruising to the bone without apology, and lifting.

And  _ that’s _ a little new, but it doesn’t stop the elated moan that slips out of Danny’s mouth before he can really think about it. The angle is tight and deep and everything at the same time, and Luke fucks up into Danny hard and fast. It’s worth however Danny is going to feel tomorrow, or later.

‘Fuck,’ Danny says, laughs it out. ‘Fuck,  _ Luke—’ _

And whispering  _ please _ is easier than anything else, puffs of needy noise that barely brush the intensity of the emotion. The whimsical, near righteous feel of it—the burning sensation, and how it’s hot but cool at the same time. The passion makes Danny shiver. It makes his fingers curl a little tighter where they hold Luke to him, makes his toes curl at the pleasure licking at the base of his spine. The fire licks at the world.

It’s good enough then to be everything, anything. The marrow and ichor, a blessing given, and Danny accepts happiness where he finds it. Luke kisses the moans off his lips and runs his hands up Danny’s spine. They touch and touch until everything is memorized and there’s nothing they can lose, not when they’re so warm.

That’s what makes them unique. It’s the identifier. It’s the reason they’re still standing and breathing in one piece. It’s what  _ drives _ them to become something more. An emotion tapered into pure adoration. It blooms like a paradoxical flower. It exists though it doesn’t. Danny kisses until it hurts.

Danny’s hips jerk somewhere in the middle. He sputters and twists at it, reaching a hand down to fist at his own dick, nearly falling apart right there just at the feel of it. His head rolls at the sensation. Luke mouths at his throat.

‘You’re making a very good first impression,’ Danny mumbles.

Luke tangles his hands in his hair. ‘Gotta make up for last time.’

How they threw each other into walls. How Danny aimed to shatter him long before it made sense. How Luke had been so  _ determined, _ and now he’s the same. He’s safe, and nestled between Danny’s thighs still rutting up into him like he can’t think about anything else. The thought pulls at the heat in the bottom of Danny’s stomach, as encouragement.

It ends the same ways again, with a surprised hiccup that melts into something softer—with Luke coaxing him somewhere new and brave without saying a word. Danny is out of it for the last half, boneless while Luke chases ecstasy while the day melts.

Danny rolls away and complains at the sudden loss. Everything has been warm and new, no need to think of anything else. Just happiness, and the better ways the world works to such a new height. Luke comes back as soon as he leaves, laying on top of Danny, and they both laugh about it. It’s simple. It’s a good look on them both, and when Danny manages to wiggle around, Luke’s smiling for him.

‘I don’t even remember how we first met,’ Danny says instantly, licking his lips.

Luke reaches and pinches his cheek. ‘Then I’ve done a good job. I’m proud of myself.’

‘Alright,’ Danny says, rolling his eyes. ‘Enough.’

They settle down side by side, sweat chilling on their skin, and the rest of the day wasting away. Danny dozes on and off feeling protected.

‘You know, I’ve been thinking a lot lately,’ Luke says all of a sudden.

‘We’ve had a lot to think about,’ Danny says without opening his eyes. He rolls over and hooks an ankle over one of Luke’s. ‘Should I be worried? Does it involve more  _ angels? _ Please, God, no.’

‘Funny how you complain about angels,’ Luke says dryly, ‘but not about dragons.’

‘Dragons have  _ prestige, _ Luke,’ Danny protests.

‘Yeah, yeah, and magical powers, I get it,’ Luke trails on, all but sticking his fingers in his ears.  _ ‘Anyway, _ I was thinking—’

Danny narrows his eyes.

‘—about when you asked if I was jealous,’ he finishes.

That night, when they had kissed for the first time. Danny had thought surely it would have been enough, but Luke wants him still. 

‘Yeah?’ Danny asks faintly.

Luke radiates, thick eyelashes and promising cheeks. He kisses Danny, smoothes his hands up his sides. ‘We should...try,’ he suggests—and Danny slides back into his lap.   
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
It says a lot about them that he finds Matt standing on a roof.

He’s handsome still and dressed like the Devil in  _ red, _ but there’s something wrong about the way he’s standing that Danny isn’t desperate to point out. It’s been a dragging year—feeling like six hundred days instead. The tinkering of rain has done nothing to deter them. 

‘This is where it began for me,’ Matt says without turning around.

Danny almost accuses him of knowing better. That there’s hope still, but he’s tasting pictures of Ward and Harold without permission. He exhales and knows Matt hears it. The worst part about the sun going down is that openness goes with it. He doesn’t know what to say.

It’s not the first or last time he hasn’t had anything to say. The world reeks of conversations people are meant to be having, but just aren’t. They have something else to do. Or they just don’t want to do it. Depression painted like procrastination. Danny pushes his hands into his pockets and walks until he’s standing next to Matt. He stares at the ground. There’s something he can’t see right beneath the surface, a hidden secret.

‘You’re not talking,’ Matt says softly.

And it hurts to say that Danny laughs at it a little, shaking his head and rolling his shoulders. He adjusts the way his jacket is sitting around his shoulders and zips it up. The chill of Fall is around the corner, and perhaps his wings ache.

‘I wanted to hear your voice,’ Danny admits. It’s the gentlest thing he could think of saying, and Matt tilts his chin in his direction. ‘By all means, don’t let me interrupt you.’

‘You won’t want to hear this story,’ Matt says.

‘You should try anyway,’ Danny says. He bumps his shoulder with Matt. ‘Despite how much shit I talk, I’m a pretty good listener.’

So Matt tells him in a rush. It’s still like pulling teeth every now and then, but they stand in the rain without clouds at the spot  _ she’d _ originally died in back when they were all faint whispers in the wind. Getting back in the game was easy for Matt despite how he’d hated it. Danny had never left it. He still cherishes the fight to this day. It’s weird hearing about the changes in tide, the waning of the moon.

Matt tells him about how it’s like he’d lost everyone. He’d visited Foggy and Karen with a weak soul and left feeling mild. He says that Danny might understand and that he might not, because Colleen doesn’t seem the kind to forget how to forgive.

And that’s the final nail in the coffin. Danny turns and places his cheek against Matt’s shoulder, reaching up for the clasps at the side of his helmet so he can pop it off, surprised that Matt will even let him. It’s a tense moment, like the world is going to end if they do it.

Matt’s mouth tastes like ichor and arils. The pace is indulging, and it stays as chaste as it can with a fever like this building up after chains of tension.

Matt’s hands stay patient by his side, but he doesn’t fight when Danny brushes his thumbs against his jaw to cradle his face. It’s the best kiss and the worst kiss—because the rain takes away from the best parts of it, but Matt’s making odd, soft sounds every time Danny goes for another. Touch-starved and punchdrunk, the best combination (—and  _ how _ the attention makes his knees weak.)

‘I don’t know how to thank you all for saving me,’ Matt confesses against the swell of Danny’s lips.

‘Shut up,’ Danny mumbles against skin. ‘Less thanking, more kissing.’ He laughs when Matt leans against him, hands finally seeking purchase. ‘I mean, this counts for  _ me, _ but I don’t know about Jess—’

‘No, no,’ Matt agrees. ‘She’s punched me enough.’

_ you’ve punched me enough, _ thinks Danny, thinking more about the glide of Matt’s tongue than his fists. It’s forgiveness that makes it all worthwhile, as if they don’t all come with warnings about strength and possession. This tale is odd regardless.

It’s intoxicating to pass the time wrapped up in one other. Although, Matt stays as polite as he possibly can considering how sore Danny’s hips are. It’s odd to know that Matt  _ knows, _ and maybe that’s why he’s being so kind.

And dear  _ God, _ did it hurt to fall back from Heaven? The steady kisses are quickly becoming something heavier and promising. They’re going so quick it’s dizzying, and Danny’s huffing a little trying to keep up. Matt could be considered frantic if it wasn’t for the self-control he’s embodying, hands in fists even though Danny’s near begging for something else, tight against his ribs.

Danny gets ahead of himself, trying to find all those clasps that hold the armor strictly in place. Pesky, messy clasps with secret identities  _ damned _ all to Hell at this point but Matt is letting him, so they must be safe. Danny could imagine if it were some other time, gentle chastisements in a shaky voice like they’re two kids in love, but they’re kind of like it anyway. It’s only after Danny has dropped the top half in a puddle that Matt laughs and gently grabs his wrists, tucking them somewhere safe.

He shakes his head with a self-conscious smile. Danny chases him for a kiss, but Matt turns his cheek and it feels warm to the touch. ‘Eager,’ he mumbles.

_ ‘Very,’ _ Danny says, wiggling his eyebrows. Matt snorts unattractively.

‘Not here,’ Matt says. It might have less to do with the rain than it does the area, but he strokes Danny’s spine so he doesn’t feel too guilty about it. ‘Anywhere else.’

Danny untangles himself like a decent human being. But it’s nice and easy-going even when Matt is laughing as he reattaches his armor steadily, although he tucks his chin and lets Danny replace his mask back over his eyes. He doesn’t use it to hide. He just follows Danny back to where they’re supposed to be. They leave the flowers on the concrete.

It’s with an odd sense of peace that they leave the dead where they’re supposed to. Danny watches the faint halo flicker as they walk, irreplaceably pretty and intact despite what they’ve done to the divine. It belongs, as contradictory as it seems. Danny reaches out to touch it though his fingers pass through. It feels like touching a million stars.

They’re like anyone else, and the closer they get, the closer Matt lets him get until they’re wound up once again, Danny’s fingers pressed between his. His heart is beating a sonata that must sound wonderful to someone as sensitive, but he enjoys what he’s getting as well. Shaking fingers seek missing hearts, and Danny clings to the one he’s found.

After all, he’d shot the sun out of the sky.

Luke is waiting for them as soon as they arrive on the porch, arms crossed in mild intrigue. He doesn’t say anything when Matt passes him, and he only nods at Danny when the door shuts behind. Something ophidian coils beneath the surface. It’s impactful with the way Luke brushes his fingers against Matt’s spine, and he must feel it with the way he shivers.

‘Let me help,’ Luke offers softly. Danny’s breath hitches.

They’re beautiful together in a way that he couldn’t have imagined. Matt becomes strangely yielding although he helps when things become too difficult, and he twists—but it’s not shy or timid, just brave. He raises his chin when he turns around, dazedly seeking redemption.

‘I’m sorry,’ Matt says, and it’s wrong.

Luke kisses him before the words are really out there. ‘Let’s not do that right now,’ he says.

It’s not an order, but even Danny’s brain falters at the implications. He approaches and presses against Luke’s side. Matt follows them faintly.

‘Is this okay?’ he asks hesitantly. ‘Are you sure about it?’

‘We’ll talk about it some other time,’ Luke says. ‘I want—Danny and I want to make sure you’re real.’

‘I’m real,’ Matt says—and it’s the return of the grin they’d almost forgotten. He smiles like sin, fading bruises and all, tight and everything that people should hate. He doesn’t flinch when Danny holds him steady and opens his mouth to Luke when he leans down to greet him halfway.

‘Just wanna make sure, Matt,’ Danny says. Matt hums in agreement.

They really are something else when they kiss. Luke is mellow and meandering, and Matt can be the same way. He’d accused Matt of it, but now he’s the one eager.

‘There,’ he mutters. ‘Be sure.’

Matt’s kisses taste like a few strains of  _ i’m sorry _ and  _ i wish it didn’t happen like that. _ They’re inevitable and sweetly bitter, but it’s nothing Danny can’t handle. He kisses Luke too and finds forgiveness against the curve there. And like sirens, they lead the weary stranger to someplace neither safe nor dangerous; it’s a world that’s grey.

He stays, and that says enough. He lets Luke kiss him, and lets Danny guide them both backwards, and doesn’t say anything about it. He kisses them both pleasantly and touches a lot more like he’s searching for answers in the lines of their prints.

‘You can stay,’ Danny whispers, nosing Matt’s shoulder..

‘How mature,’ Matt says against his collarbone. Surprisingly, Danny is the one crushed between them. He’s laughing like he remembers something. ‘I didn’t expect it.’

‘I’ve been working on him,’ Luke says, somewhat proud.

Still, it’s nothing different from before. Luke is a guiding light in the wavering darkness once again. He’s steadying hands and a soothing presence. Danny can’t stop feeling the buzz in his veins, pure excitement and everything terrible in between. He’s longed for it more than he cares to admit, and it’s finally becoming true.

Because Matt is alive and safe, and Luke is  _ okay _ with it all—interested, even, with the way he pushes and clings, hands reaching to places they shouldn’t. He kisses Matt almost as much as Danny does, swallows up the noises and encourages them, milking out reactions the same way he had Danny. It’s perfection in almost every sense. It’s finally something bright.

This is what it’s like without the confusion, the disruption. It’s the vaguest, yet blooming happiness with colors that can’t even be described. It’s kissing the sadness away—hiding it and the guilt.

Danny’s hands shake. Matt helps him. The fabric of Luke’s shirt ends up tangled beneath their fingers, but it slides up and off with zero complaint until there’s nothing. Matt tilts his chin and  _ feels _ everything, guides Danny’s hands with him so that he can feel it the same way that Matt has to feel it.

‘Stay,’ Luke murmurs.

Danny will never know what that voice sounds like besides what he can hear, a bass timbre to his ears, but something more. Matt bites his lip at the sound, and Danny grins like he’s won.

‘Okay,’ Matt says faintly. He sounds distant. ‘Okay. I’ll stay.’

‘Good,’ Danny whispers.

They fumble, but it’s only natural. The serious weight is lifted the moment they fall into the covers, muted but blinding all the same. Matt’s skin  _ glows _ prominently the darker it is. It’s almost holy, and it doesn’t stop Danny from worshipping it as he maps out everything he wants. Getting all their clothes off is the easy part, and the scars don’t look terrible with starlight beneath them.

Danny gives him back the only life he’s ever known, and Luke introduces stability. They work well together until the tension has slid away and there’s only anticipation left. It’s hard to tell, but it’s honest. It’s awful to say he’s almost  _ angelic. _

Luke preps him like he did before, with one then two then  _ three, _ all while Danny is making himself comfortable against Matt’s chest. They’d offered, but he’d given them the shyest smile Danny had ever seen with a soft ‘Haven’t yet’ to follow. And he seems fine with it, fingers skating along Danny’s ribs comfortingly even as he tries.

Luke makes sure to stay a comforting figure, breathing out compliments and encouragements, and still dealing with everything that he’s handling something absolutely precious. He doesn’t let go even for a minute, squeezing Danny’s hip when it’s overwhelming and staying.

That seems to be the denominator. The unspoken promise. The quiet bond that won’t shake. Luke pushes into Danny as careful as he can. It doesn’t do much to quell the shivers that come along with it, the amazement that sinks over Matt’s features as he takes it all in, and the short gasp that comes with being full. It doesn’t help that his cock drags against Matt’s with the movement. Luke groans at what he sees, because he holds on tighter, and his hips jump a little bit.

‘You two are  _ bad _ for my heart,’ he says breathlessly. Danny laughs.

Matt gives them a strange look, but he grins anyway. ‘Gotta keep you on your feet,’ he says, and somehow manages a shrug. ‘Keep your heart young.’

Danny is unnecessarily pretty during times like this. He’s sure of it just from the way he feels, electricity tinging everything a certain shade of red, and he’s hot but tired in a good way. Luke’s thrusts are slow and controlled, but Matt is arching nicely underneath.

It becomes something else when it’s just them. There’s nothing contradictory under the surface that they should be afraid of. No imposing figures. No violent needs.  _ This, _ and the way their hands curl together because they can and will. There’s nothing to be afraid at all—with the unbreakable, and the dragon, and the Devil. They kiss with the promise of safety and it becomes them. Anything out there can wait for another day. Danny wants to savor this one and remember it forever.

He wants to remember Luke’s chest against his back, and the desired  _ drag _ of his cock inside. He wants to remember Matt’s shaking hands as he holds him up with the support. He wants to remember what it feels like to be among the stars.

And if it’s slow and tastes like flowers, then it’s to make up for the thousands of bruises they have scattered against them—the hairline fractures and tender muscles. The angry, but fading wounds that are going to become light stars that don’t matter. Danny takes them all and holds them somewhere else, to a place where it doesn’t matter, and to places where pain doesn’t exist.

Matt holds a hip with one hand while the other settles between them, lightly tracing over the shape of their skin pressed together. Danny helps him hold their cocks together and kisses his neck just to feel him shudder. Luke feels it too and moans.

It would be poetic if it weren’t near frantic now. Luke seeks somewhere deeper and grinds to find it, and Matt’s hands are shaking they can barely keep it together. They’re falling apart together and Danny is floating somewhere in the middle, tasting the world, tasting the heavens, and he’s finding out exactly what it means to be good with everyone around him searching for the same damn thing.

So Danny melts into it with a soft sigh, shuddering when Luke presses a kiss over the back of his neck, and shuddering  _ worse _ when it all becomes too much to handle. He can feel their heartbeats spread out across his fingers. He’s dizzy with it.

The anger he’d been feeling for months has finally melted away. He’s not bitter, humming  _ yes _ and  _ please _ under his breath. He finally did something the right way, and knowing it makes fire spread across his skin until that’s all he has left.

It’s wholesome pride that makes his spine arch, and genuine relief that has him almost shouting. He spills messily all over Matt’s stomach, and when Danny touches the proof curiously, Matt moans. It’s the loudest sound he’s made the entire time. Luke squeezes a little too tight, and the perfection only lasts that long until it’s over.

‘Well,  _ fuck,’ _ Danny breathes shakily.

And it’s real. It’s oddly real, and saturated with bright colors— and it mixes together so prettily once and for all. It’s real, because even though Danny crushes Matt’s ribs still yellowing from everything, he’s breathing life and sharing it with Luke.

‘Right here,’ Danny says.

He curls his fingers against Matt’s skin and holds on, still sticky, still ruined. His heart won’t stop thudding against his chest. Luke’s tickles along his shoulder blade.

‘Right here,’ Matt agrees.

‘You’re welcome any time,’ Luke adds.

Because this is what finality looks like. Death can  _ kiss _ Danny’s ass. He closes his eyes and falls asleep to angels petting down his spine.


End file.
